


Treading Water

by writedeku



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Kirk, BAMF Spock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Meld, Not compliant with Beyond, Plot Driven, Slow Build, Spock Has Feelings, Spock doesnt know what to do with said feelings and represses the shit out of them, Tarsus IV (mentioned), gay space nerds, multi-chaptered, post STID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writedeku/pseuds/writedeku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spock and Jim are stranded on a supposedly deserted planet, well, it is definitely not how Spock anticipated the events to go. All he wanted to do was get his samples and, as Jim puts it, go back to the Enterprise to get his science on. </p><p>But fate is cruel, and the gods more so. Spock is consumed by an inner dichotomy, and Jim is dying, and theirs is not a story of happily ever after, but neither is it one of defeat. Theirs is a story of desperate devotion that transcends everything they understand, a reminder that to love someone is to know them better than they know themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! So I haven't been writing for a while, but I'm back and with a bigger project than ever. This story is going to be more plot driven than I have ever written, it is going to be multi-chaptered and huge (and we all know what happened to my last multi-chaptered fic...stuck at one chapter until I deleted it), but for Spock and Kirk, I am willing to do this. 
> 
> Do not hesitate to comment, please, or to message me on tumblr at starkmagnus, if you liked this first chapter and are willing to see more. It means a lot to me. I may not reply to every comment individually, but I assure you I will address them in the notes in the second chapter. 
> 
> Once again, thanks for starting this fic with me. I'll try to update at least once a week!

When Spock was a child, the Vulcans spent a lot of time- more so than usual, training him to control his emotions. This was not due to unwillingness on his part, nor was his lack of control a problem- he was the same as most young Vulcans, albeit slightly more prone to anger. The problem, he later concluded, was his humanity. Even though Vulcans were the first to establish friendly ties with Terra, and even though the humans later proved themselves by being the location for where the Federation was formed, Vulcans still felt themselves...superior, and so looked down on humans in private.  
  
Despite Spock proving himself to be exemplary in the fields Vulcans held most high, he was still mistrusted by the Elders, and as such he had twice as many sessions on which they would attempt to teach him meditation, control, and convince him to undergo _kolinahr_ , the purging of all emotion, when he was older.  
  
It was during one of these sessions that T'Paya, one of his many teachers, told him to choose. The Vulcan way, or the Terran way. She treated them as if they were a dichotomy, as if they could never be unified, never work together. She spoke like there was so much disparity between them that it was nonsensical- but Spock had watched his mother and his father and concluded that they were more than capable of harmonising. She said for him to imagine his emotions as if separated from his mind by a curtain of sorts, to hide them in a box, to keep them somewhere he could not reach and throw away the key.  
  
When he reached home, he immediately set about meditating to try her way, and found it to be useful. However, he realised after an incident in the classrooms involving the Vulcan youth and insults toward his family that ended in a fight Spock found he enjoyed that a mere curtain was not enough to keep everything inside back. The rage had come pouring out of his curtain like a torrent of rain, his vision narrowed to the ones calling his mother unrepeatable insults, and he had launched at them with a ferocity that scared and thrilled him.

After it all, when he learnt he had cracked the ribs of the Vulcan, he fingered his split lip and felt a primal sense of victory he did not know he was capable of. He was glad he had hurt the Vulcan so, and that scared him, because he was not supposed to feel anything, least of all derive pleasure from the misfortune of another.  
  
He thought for a while about what could replace his curtain, and remembered a design of a starship he had been studying, and the immensely strong and capable set of blast doors it possessed. He envisioned them now, as he meditated. He imagined his emotions to be a deep ocean, lapping against the shore of his logical  mind. Then, he closed his blast doors against the tide, and sealed it shut.  
  
From there, his control of emotions became easier. His teachers commended him on his exceptional restraint, although they always tagged on at the end of their sentence the words: for a half-human. This was a distinction Spock found to be redundant, but he held his tongue, because it was the Vulcan way.  
  
When the Elders told him, after being accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy, that his mother was a disadvantage, he had never detested the Vulcan way more. He, for all he knew and perceived, did not understand why they felt his humanity would be a disadvantage. While studying, he had found that when many of his peers lacked the drive to continue, determination came leaking out from his blast doors and allowed him to carry on. Being half-human had not been a disadvantage, it had been a boon.

He had done exceptionally, even by Vulcan standards. He should not have to live his life being haunted by his humanity, and everywhere he turned he should not have to fight for his right to be recognised as an individual. Most Vulcans, if presented this scenario, would have ignored the constant prejudice. After all, it was the Vulcan Science Academy. Its prestige was limitless- it was held so high in society that it could have made everyone forget his heritage, or it could have amplified it. It occurred to him that they were being extremely hypocritical. For all their talk about losing emotion, they certainly had an abundance of xenophobia, and prejudice. Whatever the case, Spock had had enough, and he decided in that split second that he would make his own path.

  
He entered Starfleet, was an exemplary student- as expected, and eventually became one of its most accomplished graduates. One of the defining moments of his time as a professor in Starfleet was when he was asked to design a simulation for new cadets to test leadership. He pored over it for a week, wondering what the simulation should entail that would make it different from the rest. It came to him, one night, when he overheard two cadets commenting about his nature. Ironically, it would seem that he was ostracized on Vulcan for being too human, on Terra he was ostracized for being too Vulcan. It seemed he could never win this fight, and that’s when he realised that his simulation would simply be unbeatable.

It would not teach them tactics, or strategies- it would show them what it was like to be afraid. It would show them what it was like to have no hope.

* * *

When James Tiberius Kirk beat his simulation while eating an apple, in such an impudent display of nonchalance, Spock felt his blast doors tremble. He was not angry, but his curiosity was piqued. He spent multiple days poring over the coding until he discovered an anomaly. He was instantly impressed. This cadet had not only managed to get past Spock’s firewall, recode several sections of it by himself so as to be triggered by a code word, but he had also managed to disguise it to the normal, untrained mind. James Tiberius Kirk was exceptionally gifted, which led to the question as to why he would attempt to cheat on the simulation. It was common knowledge that it had never been beaten before, and so its results were not really taken into consideration. It focused more on the handling of the crew’s emotions, especially the Captain’s.

The first few times James Tiberius attempted the simulation, he was exceptional. He ordered evacuation when he realised there was no hope, instead of clinging to the ship in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. He even developed new evasive strategies and defence moves that stumped the program for a while because it had never been done before. He was unorthodox, creative and intelligent, and he was also gentle, compassionate, and had a streak for the self-sacrificial. He was a fine Captain against all odds, and it was obvious how much the crew, even when it was one he had never worked with before, listened and trusted his judgement. He was a natural leader with a dash of the rebellious, which was exactly what Starfleet was lacking. He had the highest marks Spock had seen since he had devised the simulation. But this- this blatant act of cheating just to win at something? This could ruin his chances of even graduating.

But Spock had a duty to uphold, so he shared his findings, and the next day James Tiberius was called in for a hearing. It was his first time meeting him face-to-face, as humans would put it, but it would not be the last.

* * *

 

If Spock thought he had felt anger before, it was nothing, nothing compared to this feeling he had as he watched his home disappear. He felt it overcome him like a tidal wave, felt his blast doors bend and break, and then it was taking all he had not to punch his way through anything that stood between him, and Nero. And if he thought he felt heartbreak before, it was a mere blip on the gaping hole that was losing his mother. He never thought he could feel this way, never thought that pain could be something not physical, something that stemmed from within with no discernible source.  
  
His blast doors shuddered and closed again, but now Spock’s feet were getting wet from the rage and the sorrow and everything he did not have a name for, and it was too late to take back what had already been spilled. So when James Tiberius told him he never loved his mother and he found his hand closing tightly around his neck, he made no attempt to stop himself. James Tiberius knew nothing of loss. He hadn’t even known his father, what did he know of remembering something that was not around to remember you? What was his life to the galaxy? He was a human; he was replaceable. At that thought, his hand grew tighter.  
  
James Tiberius’ heart was failing. Spock relished in hearing him choke and gasp- until a voice cut through the bloodlust. His father, and he said his name, and he remembered his mother and how anguished she would be to see this. It did not matter, she was gone now, but the thought lingered and he pulled away. Amanda Grayson was a human, and she was irreplaceable. He could not kill James Tiberius.

* * *

On Nero’s ship, James Tiberius told him, “Mind-meld with one of them. I’ll cover you.”

Spock did not trust him. Humans were a fickle sort, and prone to lying. He could just say it, get Spock killed, and go about his daily business, completely unperturbed. Then it occurred to him that James Tiberius could not possibly know that mind-melding was a skill that Vulcans possessed, because it was simply not broadcasted. It made him even more suspicious.  
  
“Don’t make me make this an order, Spock,” he narrowed his eyes at him. “I promise. I will not let you die.”  
  
“Given that I have attempted to kill you, you leaving me for dead is a logical assumption.”  
  
James Tiberius’ eyes widened. “Spock,” he said slowly. “I will cover you. Now go!”  
  
Spock considered their alternatives, decided this method had a higher chance of him escaping alive, and so he knelt to one James Tiberius had helpfully stunned and pressed his fingers to his face.  
  
During his meld, he quickly located the information he needed. He exited the meld just as James Tiberius fired his phaser. Spock instinctively ducked, knowing in his heart that of course he would have been betrayed- but then the blast sailed harmlessly over his head and hit a Romulan behind him, sending him flying.  
  
Spock stared at him.  
  
He tolerated about fifteen seconds of this before he snapped and questioned Spock for answers. Meanwhile, Spock was questioning his own misgivings about James Tiberius.

* * *

“Spock?” James Tiberius- Jim, as Spock learnt he liked to be called, and henceforth endeavoured to remember, paused in his open doorway and looked conflicted. “Do you have a moment?”  
  
Spock looked up from his padd, from where he had been looking over several samples they had collected from the planet they were currently in orbit around. It was strange- the water in the planet kept reacting to presence, as though attempting to communicate. He pushed it aside and said “of course, Captain, I believe I do.”  
  
Jim entered the sparsely decorated room- the only personal memorabilia he allowed himself was a framed photograph of when his family was complete, several blankets his mother knitted- ( _“Why do you make these when we can purchase them?” “Oh, Spock, the joy is in the craft.”_ )- and several books on varying subjects.  
  
He traced a hand down the photograph, poked the blankets, studied the books- eventually it became apparent that he was merely stalling for time.  
  
Spock said, “Jim.” Using another’s first name as a prompt was commonly done in human social circles, and so he used it confidently here. It had its desired effect, because Jim turned hastily around to face him.  
  
“Sorry,” he started, and then seemed to come to a conclusion. “Yeah, that was what I actually came here to say.”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say that you came to my quarters to apologise for meandering around them? How could you have known that I would react in this manner?”  
  
Jim stared at him, and shook his head three times fast. “No, Spock,” Jim said softly. Softness in a human voice usually meant they were about to deliver bad news. Spock braced himself, and his blast doors, which were in need of some serious reparation works. Perhaps after Jim was gone, he could meditate and work on them. “I came here to apologise for what I said about you and your mother.”  
  
Spock looked at him solemnly. An apology was the last thing he expected- given that he had assaulted him.  
  
“I had to get you to leave- I mean, _you_ told me to do that, but still. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”  
  
“There is no apology needed,” Spock replied, trying to mimic the gentle tone Jim was using. “I assaulted you.”  
  
“Because of what I said.” Jim raised an eyebrow.  
  
Spock saw the logic in that. “Very well, I accept your apology,” and here Jim visibly relaxed. “And I hope you accept mine for strangling you. I assure you that I harbour no more murderous intentions toward you.”  
  
Jim looked stunned, then threw back his head and laughed. “I accept, Commander.”

* * *

One thing Spock liked the most about humans was their inane ability to pack-bond with virtually anything that classified as non-toxic. Humans sometimes acted as if being on their own is the better choice, yet they spilled their pack-bonding instincts everywhere. At this current moment, Spock was watching Jim interact with the Tuquens. They were here to visit and re-establish diplomatic ties with them, after having not heard from them in a very long while.  
  
The Tuquens were a reclusive sort, with beady black eyes that conveyed no warmth, and feathers coated their body instead of fur. They were bipedal, had only three fingers on one hand, with a thin membrane spread between them. Warp-capable, the Tuquens were highly advanced and it was absolutely necessary, in the light of the events of Nero, to have them as an ally.  
  
One of the Tuquens was accompanied by a creature that resembled a Terran housecat, except for the fact that it was approximately one point sixty-eight metres in height, had feathers instead of fur, and had pendulous ears. It did have whiskers and a long tail, and stood proudly on four legs.  
  
Jim took one look at the massive beast and asked if he could touch it.  
  
The Tuquens were understandably perplexed by his question- perhaps touching their native species to communicate affection was not something they did. Jim said, “it’s called ‘petting’, and we do it on my home planet to show affection.” When the Tuquens still did not understand his words, he gestured for Spock to come over.  
  
“Like so,” he said, when Spock was standing in front of him, and promptly reached his hand to lightly pat his head, despite the fact that he was obviously taller and he had to stand on the tips of his toes.  It felt almost comforting, if a bit patronising, and when Jim took it a step further and ruffled his hair gently Spock’s nose crinkled. It would be a lie to say he disliked it, but he would have to recomb his hair.  
  
The Tuquens discussed the matter amongst themselves before the Chief permitted it, causing the Jim to visibly bounce on his feet due to anticipation as the beast was brought over.  
  
It was explained to Spock- the only one listening, at least, because Jim was too busy holding out his hand for the beast to sniff at, that it was a _talashk-mordu_ , a beast native to their planet. It was semi domesticated, and due to its immense strength, keen sense of hearing and smell, as well as its status as semi-sapient, the Tuquens used them to guard sensitive locations.  
  
“Hi,” Jim said as he held out his hand. “I’m Jim Kirk.”

Th _e talashk-mordu_ bumped his hand with his nose. “Jim Kirk,” it echoed in a series of snuffling noises, as the universal translator beeped and churned out the words. “Smell nice.”  
  
“Can I touch you?” Jim asked carefully. This was another one of the qualities that Spock found admirable in his Captain. Even though the beast’s masters had already given him the go ahead, as long as the beast itself refused, he would not carry on. He cared for the feelings of those around him.  
  
“Touch?” the beast questioned, before lying down and pressing its head into the ground. “Touch.”  
  
It occurred to Spock that Jim was pack-bonding with the beast. Clearly, Jim seemed unaware of his influence, but judging from the disbelieving looks of the Tuquens, the beast had previously not permitted itself to be touched in any manner. Yet here came this outsider, and within several minutes of meeting it, had already managed to, as he was now doing, rub the sides of the _talashk-mordu’s_ face and giggle.

* * *

“Three for beaming back to the Enterprise, Scotty,” Jim said jovially, his cheeks flushed with excitement.  
  
“Three?” Scott’s voice crackled over to the communicator. “Got a visitor have you?”  
  
“Something like that,” Jim conceded, grinning widely at Spock, who stared impassively back at him as his hair was licked by the _talashk-mordu_ , which Jim, after consulting heavily with it, had named Tefal.  
  
“Don’t tell the cat,” he stage-whispered as they awaited the beam up. “But Tefal means adorable in Heren.”  
  
“It is not a cat,” Spock informed him. “However feline it may resemble. It is a _talashk-mordu_ , and it has been gifted to us in good graces by the Tuquen high council.”

“It’s licking your hair,” Jim suddenly noticed, and burst into laughter. “Oh my god, your hair is standing up.”  
  
He glanced upward; indeed, the back of his hair had been pushed upward into something that looked vaguely like a pyramid. Tefal noticed the point on the top, pressed downwards with its tongue, and his hair sank downwards. He sighed heavily as Jim continued laughing, even as they were beamed up.

* * *

“My god,” said Doctor McCoy, the instant they appeared on the transporter pad. “Why does Spock have sex hair?”  
  
Jim had to stabilise himself against the wall as he was overcome with a second round of laughter. “I love how that is the first thing you see,” he gasped for air, and that is when McCoy noticed the feline at the back, turning circles around Spock’s person.  
  
“What is that?” He asked shrilly, and Tefal raised his head at him.  
  
“Tefal,” it nodded at him. “Jim Kirk name Tefal.”  
  
“Why do you have a bird cat?” Lieutenant Uhura asked as she entered the room. “Commander- your hair?”  
  
“I am very much aware of the state of my hair,” Spock said as he stepped off the pad. “This is a _talashk-mordu_. Jim formed a bond with it, surprising the Tuquens, and upon our departure they gifted it to us. It is also worth noting that its bond with Jim was the main reason the Tuquens thought us to be trustworthy. Apparently, it had been a bit of a wildcard.”

“The things like a metre and a half, and we’re just going to keep it aboard the Enterprise?” McCoy snorted, looked at Jim’s excited face and sighed. “I’ll go get the vet.”  
  
“What is vet?” Telfan questioned as they moved out of the room, his tail swishing behind him.  
  
“You’re going to love her,” Jim coughed, shot a glance at McCoy, who was on the verge of shaking his head, and carried on walking.

* * *

In the two weeks that spanned since Telfan’s arrival, it had already garnered several admirers. However, the beast remained extremely loyal to Jim, even going as far as to accompany him to the Bridge and sit, curled up around the Captain’s chair, content to do nothing and sleep. Spock often wondered if he should tell him of his pack-bonding- it seemed to be very influential, even for a human. Perhaps it was that had granted him such extraordinary leadership abilities.  
  
He was contemplating the matter when there was a double knock on the door, a knock that Spock had come to associate to be Jim’s. “Enter.”  
  
The doors slid noiselessly open, and it revealed Jim, as Spock had suspected, but instead of his usual jovial attitude, he looked weary, and tired. “Is something troubling you?”  
  
He nodded, a wordless sigh of stress escaping his mouth as he entered the room and sat heavily down in the only chair Spock had in his room. Spock himself was sitting on his meditation pad. “There was a scandal in one of the other ships. I just got word.”  
  
“What has transpired?” He asked, intrigued. Not many scandals happened in Starfleet. Perhaps the biggest one that had happened during Spock’s time in the Academy was when Jim had been rightfully accused of cheating.  
  
“The First Officer on USS Tempest lied to his Captain on the origins of a particular substance. It was toxic, and he didn't know, but when the Captain asked him to make sure it was safe he didn't bother, and I quote ‘because the two of them had had an argument recently’ unquote, so he lied and said it checked out. Two people died, Spock.”  
  
Spock frowned. “That is most unlike Commander Jackson,” he said, and Jim snorted.  
  
“Of course you would know who he was,” Jim said, though he said it with fondness, not with the underlying irritation that many others would have. “Yeah, Jackson’s usually a pretty decent dude, but he- he indirectly killed two people because he let his feelings get in the way.”  
  
Spock nodded solemnly, knowing that Jim preferred to vent first before he allowed himself to take advice. Silence fell, but it was broken soon after by him.  
  
“Promise me something, Spock,” he rubbed his face with his hands.  
  
“Vulcan oaths are not made lightly,” Spock informed him. “What is it you would have me swear?”  
  
“That you and I will never keep a secret from each other, especially not when concerning the Enterprise. You can keep your personal details to yourself, for example your relationship with Uhura, but when it comes to the crew, to the mission? Don’t hide anything from me, and vice versa,” Jim looked at him with unusual graveness. “I know it is a big promise, but the Enterprise is my family and I won’t have it risked over a petty argument.”  
  
“Vulcans do not lie.”  
  
“Is hiding something I should know considered lying by omission to Vulcans?”  
  
Spock considered this. “No. Very well, I swear to you. Where the Enterprise is concerned, I will not keep a secret from you.”  
  
Jim visibly relaxed; his whole body slumped forward. “And I promise you too.”  
  
“I can start with one,” Spock said. Jim raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the chair such that it rested on two legs. “I do not have a relationship with Lieutenant Uhura.”  
  
Jim tipped backwards over the chair, crashing to the ground in a heap of limbs. It would seem that his words had caused surprise. “She kissed you.”  
  
“And I her,” he confirmed. “Yet, we decided recently that we were not compatible.”  
  
“So...she is your ex-girlfriend, and you work together?” Jim’s eyebrows were well into his forehead.  
  
“It was...awkward, I believe the word is, for the first fifteen point six days,” Spock admitted. “However, no complications will arise because of our previous emotional connection,” he assured him. “She was the one to initiate the termination of our romantic involvement.”  
  
“Too much is going on right now,” Jim actually looked delighted. “First, I just wanna say that I am _gossiping_ with a Vulcan, and second, Uhura broke up with you? What did she say?”  
  
“I have no comment on the matter,” Spock replied, and Jim’s whole face fell. He sighed heavily. “She informed me that in light of recent events, she would give me space.”  
  
“Did you say no?”  
  
“Obviously not.”  
  
“You should’ve said no,” Jim whistled. “Wait- did you want to remain in a relationship with Uhura?”  
  
“I was conflicted over the matter,” Spock admitted. “I do not think I would have remained for much longer had she  not initiated the end.”  
  
“That’s tough, Spock,” Jim clapped his shoulder. “‘Cause you volunteered one, I’ll tell you a personal one too. That’s fair, right?”  
  
“It would seem so.”  
  
“I know a lot about Vulcans that I probably shouldn’t know.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Spock leaned forward. This was something he had been meaning to ask Jim for a long time, ever since Nero and the mindmeld.  
  
“You- Spock prime mindmelded with me when we were stranded on Delta Vega. He said- is it said when you hear someone else’s voice in your head- that you and I should become friends. Then all this information about Vulcans came pouring out. I think it was so I could keep you safe,” Jim rubbed the back of his neck, a sign he was nervous.  
  
“What did you learn?”  
  
“Everything,” Jim deadpanned. “You are a touch-telepath. You kiss with your hands. You have an inner eyelid. You can do this wickedly awesome healing trance thing. That Vulcans and humans cannot um...reproduce without medical intervention. That you were the first Vulcan/human hybrid to survive to adulthood. You’ve got weird teeth called tri-something, I can’t remember that one. And there’s um, something...um,” he was clearly hesitating.  
  
Spock scanned his list of Vulcan attributes, applied Jim’s nervousness as a filter, and found one match. “ _Pon farr_ ,” he said, and Jim visibly cringed..  
  
“That, yes. Jesus- when is your next-”  
  
“Not soon,” Spock assured him. “As I am half-human, the _pon farr_ is not as strong as it is with normal Vulcans. It follows no logical course, but it can be controlled with meditation.”  
  
“So you don’t have to- this is terrible,” Jim rubbed his face with his hands again, stood up, and clapped Spock weakly on the back. “I hope you never get it again.”  
  
“Likewise, Captain,” the corners of Spock’s mouth twitched upwards. “I notice you are extremely uncomfortable.”  
  
“Yes I am, Spock,” Jim looked off into the distance. “Yes I am.”

“Jim, if I may offer a word of advice,” he paused, and only when Jim nodded did he continue. “Do not repeat what you know about Vulcans around them. While they are peaceful, they protect their secrets, and none is more so than the Vulcan biology. To inform them, then, that you have this knowledge, and considering recent events, they may perceive you as a threat.”

Jim made a face. “Has anyone ever told you that Vulcans are extremely xenophobic?”

“I am all too aware, Captain.”

* * *

“Spock, Uhura, Tefal and Bones, you’re with me on the away team. The mission is simple, there was a war here a long time ago, and Starfleet want us to see if we can learn anything about it. The planet is now uninhabited, and three scans for lifesigns have turned up nothing. All the same, set your phasers to stun, take your survival kit- I am not taking any chances after what happened to USS Elizabeth- and meet me at the transporter pad in fifteen minutes,” Jim commanded, and the crew instantly dispersed. “Chekov, you have the conn.”  
  
“Are we _seriously_ taking the birdcat,” McCoy hissed as Spock began attaching a locator to Telfan’s collar.  
  
“I think it’ll do it- her, sorry, keep forgetting, some good to get out of the Enterprise for some fresh air,” Jim smiled at the _talashk-mordu_ with something that resembled pride. “And she’s adorable, so yes.”  
  
“You have got to stop forming attachments to animal species,” McCoy insisted. “You nearly brought back a pontis the other day.”  
  
“Yeah, so what? He was cute! I named him Mouse.”  
  
“It _eats_ metal, Jim,” McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. “This entire starship is made out of _metal_ . If Spock hadn’t been around-”  
  
“I will most likely always be around to prevent the Captain from bringing back potentially destructive animal creatures to the Enterprise,” Spock said. “I can get him to change his mind on most of them, except the _talashk-mordu_ , which would have been seen as a rejection toward the Tuquen high council, and the small hamster like creature he had left in his sleeve and brought on board without both our knowledge while we were on Gamma Five.”  
  
“Yeah, what happened to the little guy?” Jim asked as they took off for the transporter pad, armed with locators, tricorders, padds and their individual survival kits.  
  
“He gorged himself on replicated food and died,” Spock said blandly.  
  
Jim visibly winced.

* * *

The planet that they beamed down on was known as Iro, or at least to the Federation. Apparently, decades ago, there had been a fierce war between Iro and a neighbouring planet, Promon. The war ended when Promon’s core became superheated due to a weapon they were attempting to charge, and the planet blew apart. Even now, the Enterprise had to navigate through huge rock formations that floated about in the zero gravity, presumably debris from Promon’s explosion. When the planet had exploded, all records of the war and of Iro had been destroyed, and the occupants of Iro had abandoned their planet.

As such, there were no known records of the war existing in Federation databases. Hence, it was a perfect mission for the Enterprise to figure out exactly what happened.

When they beamed down, they found themselves in a deciduous forest. The temperature was cool, approximately fifteen degrees celsius, and the sun was out and hanging low in the sky. Dawn had just broken, and the orange sunlight filtered from behind clouds and illuminated huge mountains that encircled their area. The trees were a species Spock had never seen before, and he immediately set about plucking leaves, flowers, and bark, and kept them neatly in their own jars. Upon inspection, they closely resembled Terran oak trees.

Telfan sniffed at the trees excitedly, but refrained from eating the leaves at Jim’s command. Instead, she pushed at the branches and pressed her nose to the ground. All at once, she took off like a bullet, and Jim just managed to shout after her to come back in a couple of hours.

McCoy muttered, “well that was useful.”

Jim swatted the back of his head, and together they trekked on. The last known coordinates was a distress signal that had been sent before abruptly cutting off, presumably due to the war. Whatever it was, it had taken years to reach a Federation base, and years more for them to decipher what it was they were attempting to communicate. By then, Promon had already exploded, and Iro was deserted.

They clambered over a boulder, Spock trailing behind to collect samples of water that was trickling past them. Jim reached down to help Uhura up when McCoy, the first to get over, said, “holy shit.”

Jim finished pulling her up, turned around, and let out a low, long whistle. By now he had piqued Spock’s interest, and so he forged forward, climbed neatly over the boulder, nudged Jim aside, and saw what had made them all stop.

It was a paradise. They were overlooking a valley. A pristine river ran through the valley, cutting its way through rock and stone. On the embankment, millions of wildflowers bloomed and grew, filling the air with a sweet scent. Several small animals rustled through the grass, framed by the new sun, and it felt overwhelmingly peaceful. Something inside Spock ached at the side, a longing for something he had never known. On the far left, a small building jutted out from a cliffside. It was white in colour, and looked like it could have been a house. Small round glassless windows circled their way around the house, and flowers grow in the cracks of the wall. He could live here, Spock realised. He could live here and be at peace.

“It doesn’t look like there’s been a war,” Uhura whispered, as if she could shatter the tranquility by speaking normally.

“There was,” Spock answered. Everyone turned to look at him.

“The place is straight out of a postcard,” McCoy gestured at it.

Spock pointed at several locations, two on the bottom right, one near the house and three at the top left. “If you notice, the flowers that grow there are not only different, but they’re growing angularly. They are slanting upwards, because they are growing in a crater, presumably created during the war. Sufficient time has passed to allow regrowth of the native vegetation, but there are always things that cannot be hidden.”

Now that Spock had pointed it out, the others could see the shadows of the slopes, the jagged edges of rocks displaced. McCoy snorted. “Spoilsport,” he stage-whispered.

“I cannot spoil a sport, Doctor McCoy. It is physically impossible.”

“Let’s just head to the building over there, shall we?” Jim interrupted McCoy’s reply, waggled his eyebrows and set off at a fast pace.

* * *

 

They reached the building in one point six seven hours. Jim pushed open the door- it was made out of wood, and was flimsy and makeshift. The inside of the house was dark and gloomy. Dust coated every object in the room.

There was a table, and three chairs. They tipped back and forth on uneven legs. Further to the left, a chair had been smashed to pieces. Further inspection of the house proved nothing. There was no bed, one end of the house had been completely destroyed, its ceiling crumbling into ruin. McCoy found a smashed transmitter, which could account for the distress signal. It is Uhura who discovered the most important thing in the house, a painting.

It had not been noticed as the painting itself had been smashed, but she had turned over one of the tiles and fit them together like a pieces of a puzzle.

The species that had previously lived on Iro was green-skinned. They had light hair, and pale eyes, and their face structure was small and compressed. They boasted three hands and two legs, and if the picture was reliable, their children were lighter in skin shade than their parents. Uhura took a photo of the painting for further study, and they brought back a piece of it.

Spock was contemplating the picture when Jim’s ecstatic shout rang throughout the house, and had the three of them rushing toward him. They burst into the room he was in and saw him standing in front of a brown, wooden cupboard. “I thought it would be like Narnia,” Jim told them. Spock did not understand the reference. “And I was right!”

Closer inspection of the cupboard revealed a set of stairs that descended down into the mountainside.

“Looks shady to me,” McCoy muttered.

“I have to agree with the Doctor, Captain. We do not know where this might bring us.”

“Does any of us have a better idea?” Jim opened his palms and waited, and when there was no answer, he grinned in triumph. He went first, as expected, babbling to himself the whole time. Next followed Uhura, McCoy, and Spock brought up the rear.

They lit the way with flashlights. The stairs went extremely deep into the mountainside, and the air inside the tunnel smelt stale. After several kilometres, Spock began experiencing back pain from hunching over, the tunnel being too small for him to fit comfortably.

Eventually, however, they arrived at a set of stone doors. Together, they pushed it open, and found that it opened into an enormous cavern. Three seats were arranged on a dias, natural light falling in and illuminating the biggest one.

“It’s a throne room,” Jim breathed, looking around in amazement. “I think this was the centre of their war efforts. They must’ve kept the most important dignitaries here.”

Uhura busied herself with some words that were scrawled along the walls, McCoy snorted- he seemed almost fond of that gesture- and poked at the seats, and Jim turned to Spock, wild-eyed with the thrill of it all and smiled brilliantly.

Spock often thought that if Jim was the sun, bright and wonderful, then he was the moon, cold and silent.

“This is awesome,” Jim whispered, as if it was something only Spock should know. “Don’t you think so?”

“It is not boring,” Spock conceded.

“You and your double negatives,” Jim laughed. “I know you’re loving it. You just can’t wait to go back to the ship and get your science on with those samples, correct?”

“You are not wrong,” Spock knew the phrase, ‘get your science on’ to be interpreted to mean wishing to analyse the substances through the use of science. He had corrected Jim on it many times before, but it seemed to have no effect, and so he had given up on even mentioning it.

“Double negative again,” Jim said fondly. “You act so stoic and impassive but give you unknown samples and you’re all raring to go, you can’t hide that from me.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Why can’t I?”

“Because your eyes are human,” Jim answered honestly. It seemed that he would have continued, but then Uhura shouted, loud and- and full of fear, and that side of Jim retreats so far into himself it was like it never existed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Second chapter here, finally. From now on, I will update every Saturday, so stay tuned! That is, Saturday where I am, and it will most likely be either Friday or Sunday in Europe/America. 
> 
> Thank you for all the support! It means a ton. 
> 
> Now I apologise for dubious science and Vulcan biology, I don't know if this is really how he works, but yeah!

“Run!” Uhura shouted again as she re-entered the throne room. “We have to get off this planet right now!”

Jim did not even stop to question her; he grabbed Spock by the hand- it sent shivers of _runprotectsafe_ up Spock’s spine, with other feelings that he wisely chose not to think about- yanked McCoy after him by the collar and ran after her.

“Tunnel?” He demanded.

“We’re breaking a window,” she replied, deadpan, and fired a series of blasts that shattered a beautiful stained glass window. She burst through the opening, stumbled a little when she hit the floor, but carried on.

Jim leapt and executed a perfect roll on landing, McCoy jumped down after them slightly less gracefully, and Spock merely stepped from the opening to an opposite rock, and from there hopped neatly down.

“Why...are we running?” Jim finally asked when they had put three point three six kilometres between them and the throne room, his chest heaving.

Uhura paused to catch her breath, and everyone came to a halt. McCoy groaned and slumped against a rock. “I translated the words off the wall. It- some of it doesn’t make sense, because theirs is a very old dialect, and I’m pretty sure I saw the words bird, pancake, grasshopper in the same sentence-”

“Nyota.”

“Sorry- sorry,” she looked terrified, and at that Spock felt something akin to fear. Uhura was the toughest person he knew, and if something could shake her to the core like that- it did not bode well for the rest of them. “It was a warning to their people. It talked about Promon’s explosion- they called it Juren-  and it said that when the planet burned things fell from the sky.”

They resumed a brisk walking pace, much to the dismay of McCoy. “Whatever it was, it turned people. Things started going...wrong. They listed symptoms of what was happening- first, the skin would lose all colour, turning milky-white. The hair would be next, open sores would develop in their mouths- and they would lose all sense of...I could not decipher the last one, but I think it meant rationality.”

“You mean zombies. There were zombies on the planet,” Jim raised both his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Must be radioactive material that fell from the explosion. If Vulcan’s hadn’t been contained in the black hole-” and here he looked at Spock and mouthed the word ‘sorry’. “-the residual dust and materials from the planet would’ve completely changed Delta Vega’s climate.”

“I am not sure that zombies is the appropriate term to use here,” Spock thought it over. “Perhaps mutants?”

“Look okay, so we had zombies on the planet, big deal. Why do we need to get off right now, immediately, at once?”

“All three of those phrases had the same meaning.”

McCoy opened his mouth to say ‘shut it’ but realised that Spock would probably take it the wrong way and instead rolled his eyes.

“Because they say they ‘were death and possessed intelligence’. Ten years passed since they were first discovered, and they lived by...they used the word _seluk,_ which means drain. They drained, and they endured. The final sentence was the time and date of their planet-wide evacuation.”

“They evacuated the planet because they had genius zombies?”

“ _Relatively_ smart zombies,” Uhura stressed the relatively. “If we assume them to be right, then they may have found a way to survive on the planet.”

“And if they are mutated,” Spock murmured, deep in thought. “Then they might not show up on the scanners.”

“So we could have an armada of zombies just hiding out there, waiting to eat us?” Jim asked, aghast. “I signed up for aliens, not to be in an episode of _The Walking Dead._ ”

“I do not understand that.”

“Old human television show,” Jim waved a hand dismissively. “Did it say what they ate? Did they eat their people?”

“No,” Uhura shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “Just what they looked like, that they underwent _seluk_ , which was stressed very heavily and repeated twice- to not let them touch you, and that evacuation was imminent.”

“Yikes,” he nodded slowly. “You think the radiation could have caused the difference in the flowers? Y’know, the ones that were growing in the craters were bulbous and white, but elsewhere there were none?”

“It is a possibility,” Spock replied, which was Spock-speak for ‘Jim is right but I refuse to give him that satisfaction’. “We are approximately two point three kilometres away from the location where we can beam up.”

“Why can’t we just do it here?”

“Geological interference, which I am taking to be the radiation, has interfered with our instruments, and as such a fixed lock on our location cannot be determined.”

“Hey, has anyone taken the liberty of making sure said radiation isn’t harmful to us?” Jim raised his hands, looking expectantly around at his crew.

There was no reply, so Jim huffed and pulled out his tricorder and set about scanning the environment, and breathed out a sigh of relief when it came up clean.

By now, they were already approaching the site. Jim looked up when he started to recognise the clearing they were in, and grinned when Tefal bounded out of the trees. “Did you see anything?” He asked, standing on his tip toes to scratch her between the ears.

“White people,” Tefal told him, her voice caught between a purr and a laugh. “Smell bad. And pretty flowers.”

Jim froze, turned to Uhura, and simultaneously all of them drew their phasers and set it to kill. “Where did you see them?”

“Places.”

“Where exactly? It’s very important.”

Tefal raised her head and nudged it fifty-five point four degrees north of their position. “There, far away. They scare Jim Kirk?”

“Well,” Jim shrugged his shoulders helplessly, much to their chagrin. “We’re almost to the site.”

* * *

They were five hundred metres from the site when everything started to go wrong. Tefal howled, throwing her head up to the sky, sending bone-deep chills throughout Spock’s person, as though the howl could literally inspire fear. He should research on whether a _talashk-mordu_ was an empathetic telepath. It would make sense why she would trust Jim so easily- he was getting distracted, and in that time, Jim had not only taken off running, but so had everyone. Spock took off after them, and had caught up in no time at all.

“Jim?” He called.

Jim spared him a look as his feet churned the earth. “Spock?”

“I smell something sour,” Spock informed him, at that moment Jim is tackled by a white creature and he goes down, swearing up a storm. “Jim!”

He fired his phaser, and it hit the creature square in the chest. Immediately, it released Jim, who broke away panting and swearing. Spock wondered when he would run out of swears, but then Jim switched to Klingon and just like that he had a whole new arsenal at his disposal.

The creatures were as described, milky-white down to their hair. Their eyes were a dark black, endless and terrifying, and their body was covered in bulbous protrusions that looked hard, but when coming into contact smushed and oozed a foul smelling substance. The only thing that identified them as the people of Iro were their three hands.

“Gotta get the fuck out of here,” Jim panted, when he saw McCoy and Uhura systematically taking down the creatures. “ _Shit_!”

“For once, I concur.”

“We’re literally in a life-or-death situation and you still find the time to be a smartass,” Jim shook his head in amazement.

Spock was too busy calling Scott to reply to that. “Beam us up, now.”

“It’s barely been four hours,” Scott replied, careless and carefree. “You sure?”

“Unless you want us to fucking die!” Jim screamed into the communicator, and he yelped, and then the sound of him frantically pushing buttons was the only sound they heard.

“Stay where you are,” Scott grumbled, and Jim paled. Both he and Spock knew that tone of voice all too well.

“Scotty,” Jim demanded, low and dark and dangerous. Smoothly, he lifted his phaser and fired off three shots that hit three of the creatures and sent them flying.

“Something is actively jamming us, what the actual- isn’t this planet uninhabited, Captain?”

“Spock,” Jim turned desperately to him. “Any ideas?”

Spock fired his phaser over Jim’s shoulder and took down one that had been attempting to sneak up on the Captain. As a reply to that question, he merely looked at Jim, and Jim took a deep breath. “So we’re fucked.”

“There is no one-”

“Don’t, Spock. Just don’t, for me and you.”

“I got it!” Scott’s triumphant voice crackled down the communicator, and instantly the beams appeared around them.

“Wait, where’s Tefal-” Jim looked around frantically, and in that moment of distraction, one of the creatures stuck a claw- a vicious, sharp claw, through his right leg, and Jim cried out as he fell.

Uhura and McCoy were already gone, and Spock was halfway to disappearing- but Jim fell, and as he fell, his mother dropped down the cliffside, Spock was beaming away, _helplesswatchingleft,_ and he knew without a shred of doubt that he could not leave Jim here. Not because he was his Captain, but because he was Jim, and because this time- this time he could do something about it. So he turned neatly away from the beam, and severed the creature’s head from its body in a fluid motion.

“Spo-” Scotty tried, but his voice crackled crudely through the communicator. “-not, under- come back for you.”

Jim was lying comatose on the ground, and the white creatures were turning on them now- they were the only ones left. Spock gauged their numbers to be fifty- impossible to take on alone, so he picked Jim up in his arms, slung him over his shoulder, and took off into the woods.

* * *

 The creatures- mutants, that had been chasing them gave up after two miles, but Spock carried on for an additional two. Branches swiped at his face, and he nearly twisted his ankle twice on wayward tree roots, but he carried on, heedless of the pain. He must’ve swiped his leg on something, his entire pant leg was a faint shade of green. Eventually, he stopped, heaving and choking- Jim was heavier than he looked, and superior strength or not, even Vulcans tired.

He looked up at their surroundings, and found they had arrived at a cliffside. Peering cautiously over the edge, he saw, much to his surprise, a long overhang that disappeared into the cliffside. His best guess from above was that this was part of a series of tunnels that, like the one leading to the throne room, had been crafted during the war.

He also decided that it would be a good place to set up camp, so he picked Jim up again from the ground and arranged him in a way that his arms were around Spock’s neck, and he was supporting his back and legs.

Very carefully, he pushed himself over the edge, and landed very neatly. He had judged the distance- a metre and thirty three centimetres, well. Turning to the tunnel, he found it not to be a tunnel but a moderately sized cave. He laid Jim down in a small alcove, and busied himself looking throughout the cave. There were several discarded wooden boxes, but on opening they were empty. A stray, opened, packet of what appeared to be a protein bar was gently laid on top of a stalagmite. It appeared as if this cave had been a storage facility of sorts.

He had just given up when he spied a box in the corner. It contained six worn blankets, dusty and old with age- and four rolls of bandages. This, as Jim would say, was a perfect example of his damn good luck.

He had paused briefly to apply a tourniquet to the wound after they had ran a mile, but the claw that had stabbed him seemed to have congealed the blood, and the wound itself was not bleeding. He wondered what the purpose of it was. It seemed almost like it would save him rather than kill him. Perhaps it worked differently on the people of Iro.

As he was wrapping the bandages around the positively gaping hole in Jim’s leg, there was a groaning noise and Spock hastily stepped back as he came to with a series of moans, groans, and other loud and unnecessary noises.

“Spock?” Jim called out, arms flailing.

Though Spock would never admit it, something inside him warmed at the fact that when Jim awoke, disoriented and confused, the first person he called for was him. He abandoned such thoughts and knelt tentatively by his side. “Captain.”

“Jim.”

“I take it that your mental state is functioning well,” Spock nodded at him. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah, I got fucking stabbed as we were beaming up,” Jim groaned as he pushed himself into sitting position. “Wait- we were beaming up.”

Spock awaited the outburst that would come in approximately four point three seconds.

“You left the beam up?!” Jim demanded, a second off his estimation. “YOU _LEFT_? Spock, how could you?”

“You were injured,” Spock informed him, finishing with the bandages. “As a First Officer, it is my responsibility to look after the Captain.”

“You could die here, Spock,” Jim gestured helplessly around their surroundings. His voice broke on his name. “You could’ve-”

“I understand-”

“No, you don't, you should've left me-”

“I could not do-”

“You need to-”

“I watched you die once, Captain, and I will not watch it again,” the words are torn from Spock like a breath underwater, and caused Jim to shut his mouth with an audible clack of his teeth. It makes him feel uncomfortable, the stare Jim gives him now, so he clears his throat and says, “the claw that stabbed you was coated in some sort of congealing substance. As such, you have not lost much blood.”

Jim’s face was faintly flushed, but he shook his head and nodded. “So where exactly are we and how did we get here?”

“I carried you and ran sixty-five degrees southwest for approximately a mile and a half, and I ran the other two and a half miles forty-seven degrees east, upon which I discovered we had chanced upon a cliffside, with an overhang just below it. I carried you down and found this cave.”

“You ran with me on your back for four miles?” Jim asked quietly. “Is that why you have all these scratches on your face?”

“They are inconsequential. We were being chased.”

“And where is the Enterprise?”

“I do not know,” Spock said. “But Scott said something about coming back for us before the jamming signal came back. It is my belief they were under attack, but by what I cannot say. It does not seem like these ‘zombies’ are intelligent enough to commander starships.”

Jim looked like he was burdened by guilt, and Spock did not know what to say to help assuage it. Instead, he showed Jim the blankets he found. Jim remarked how smart he was to insist they bring their survival kits with them, and Spock agreed, to which Jim asked if he was still comatose and dreaming.

“If you were, why would I be here?” Spock asked him, and Jim glanced helplessly around the cave, for once not having a reply.

At some point, Spock left to find some food. He foraged in the woods around the camp for a while- he was wary of going further than a mile in radius. However, he came across nothing threatening, but he found a huge grove of berries, and some sort of fruit he found growing on some trees. He carried them back in their survival kit, and brought it back to the hut. By then, night was falling, and that meant the temperature dropped.

Spock wrapped himself in five of their blankets and found it to be dismal. The dinner had been adequate- ( _“I sure hope I’m not allergic to anything here,” Jim mutters under his breath. Spock’s head whips towards him. “What?” “I didn’t say nothing.”_ )- everything checked out in the tricorder, and they had managed to set one of their wooden boxes alight using Spock’s phaser- Jim’s had been dropped along the way.

Jim bundled himself in the blanket, the firelight framing his face. “This is cozy,” he smiled weakly, wincing as he attempted to move his leg. “Spock-”

Spock looked up from his literal nest, and Jim’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, fuck me, you're a desert-dweller and this is the exact opposite of a desert, I'm so fucking sorry- get over here you lump, what the fuck are you doing over there by yourself? You allergic to fire or something?”

“I am physically incapable of being a lump,” Spock informed him, but he got up and shifted until he was sitting in front of the fire. He had not wanted to disturb him. The fire was welcome against his skin, a blazing source of heat, and he relaxed almost imperceptibly. “And I am not allergic to fire.”

Jim pushed closer to him, until their shoulders and legs were touching, and pressed into him such that he was leaning on him. “Jeez, you're warm, the hell? I thought you'd be freezing your ass off.”

“You will recall that deserts get extremely cold at night. As such, I am fully capable of-”

“Well I'm not, and you're gonna be my space heater for a while,” Jim interrupted him, smiling cheekily. “If that's okay with you, because if you aren't just say the word and I will back the fuck off.”

Jim was slightly warmer than him, but Spock suspected that the fire on the edge of his skin was not solely due to Jim’s body temperature. “Vulcans do-”

“I know Vulcans like their personal space,” he gestured weakly. “I wanna know what _Spock_ thinks.”

Spock fell silent at that. A few minutes passed until he said, “in that case, this is acceptable.”

Jim grinned at him.

A brief contact of their hands sent _scaredprotecthurt_ up Spock’s arms, making it tingle. Jim made an apologetic sound, grinned diabolically, and placed his hand fully onto Spock’s arm- but there was nothing, just a faint whisper of ‘sorry’ that disappeared as soon as it came.

Both of his eyebrows disappeared into his hair. Jim chuckled. “Nice to know I can still surprise you.”

“You learnt how to shield?” Spock tried to keep the amazement out of his voice.

“When I found out that Vulcans are touch-telepaths, I signed myself up for a class on shielding,” Jim shrugged, and promptly winced at the movement. “If you haven't noticed- which I doubt, I touch people a lot. It's easier to learn how to shield than to stop doing that. I forget sometimes, though, I’m not very good at it.”

“You did it for me?” He didn't really believe it. Perhaps the Captain had learnt shielding for someone else- for a diplomatic mission- a girl-

“What, you know of other telepaths that I need to shield for?” Jim asked teasingly. “‘Course I did it for you. I take my crew’s comfort very seriously, you know.”

Spock stared at his Captain, as though seeing _him_ , finally, for the first time. It made something bubble up in him, a warmth that flooded his body. “Thank you.”

Jim started a little- he felt him jerk against his body, but then he settled down again and leaned his head on Spock’s shoulder. “Ah, no worries,” he murmured. “Glad you're okay with it.”

“Why would I not be?” Spock asked, but by then the Captain had already dropped off to sleep.

* * *

Spock found that Jim’s warmth was not unwelcome, as was his head on his shoulder- if he were less Vulcan, he would say that it felt comforting, knowing he was not alone here. However, what pained him was that he did not require as much sleep as humans. Normally, he would be meditating at this time, but with Jim’s breath tickling his neck, his thoughts often strayed elsewhere, and squashing them down caused him to lose control of the meditation. He sighed, shifted slightly, and thought about moving. The answer to that came when he tried to nudge out of the way, but Jim made a sort of whining noise and that was the end of that.

_You are being extremely illogical. He can sleep perfectly fine on his own._

**He is injured.**

_That has previously never hindered you._

**He is Jim.**

_Are we supposed to draw a distinction from the name?_

**He takes comfort in my presence.**

_Comfort is not a necessity._

More and more, this side of him threatened overwhelmed Spock. Being on a ship that is eighty-five point six percent human, had made him, however illogical their species, grow to be quite fond of them and their ways. They had no rules, no _Vulcans do this and not that_ , they did what they pleased and called it theirs, and it seemed almost, dare he say it, alien to Spock- the idea that someone can be who they choose to be and not who they were born to be. But the Vulcan he was raised to be squashed any hopes of being someone else. Vulcans do not do that.

**But remaining warm is necessary.**

There is no reply; Spock assumed he won this debate and settled back against the stone walls. Yet another thing he detested- having to constantly justify his actions to himself. He tentatively leaned his head on Jim’s and inexplicably- he drifted off to sleep as well, with Jim’s hand on his arm and the fire burning low into the night.

* * *

 He awoke, all at once, when Jim sent _paniclossruin_ through the contact with his arm. He pulled away instinctively, causing Jim’s head to pitch towards the ground and wake him up with a grunt too. “What’s going on?”

“I believe you were dreaming, Capt-Jim,” Spock informed him, trying to shake the clutch sleep still had on him. By his own approximation, he had been asleep for six point seven hours, and Jim for eight point three. “You were afraid.”

“Ah,” Jim rubbed his eyes and tried for a smile that failed to impress Spock. “Sorry about that. My shields aren’t very strong when I fall asleep- did I stay on your shoulder the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, what did you do for the whole time?”

“It would appear I fell asleep too,” Spock sounded confused too- well, as confused as a Vulcan can sound, which is barely. It is a good thing that Jim is fluent in 'Spock says _this_ but he actually means  _that_ ' or he'd be lost. “That does not usually happen.”

“Well, it was a taxing day,” Jim grinned slightly. “Hand me the bottle of protein nibs, will you?”

Spock passed him the bottle, and Jim put the recommended three into his mouth and promptly gagged. “Whoever thought this was a good flavour should be fired,” he hissed vehemently. “It tastes like someone threw up and mixed it with that tea from Yugo. You remember?”

“The one that you said smelt like week old socks,” Spock nodded. They had been forced to drink the tea as it was traditionally served to the new king and queen of their planet, and seeing as they had become democratic and joined the Federation, Jim and Spock were the next best thing. “Vulcans do not easily forget.”

“That’s the one,” Jim huffed. “I poured half my cup into a potted plant nearby.”

Spock gave him a look that radiated displeasure.

Jim shrugged and instead turned matters to his wound. “We’re going to have to hypo this if I don't want it infected, right?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

Spock refused to let him do it on himself. To say he doubted his ability to take care of himself was an understatement. He rolled up his pant leg and did not visibly react, which must’ve clued Jim in, because his heart rate increased exponentially. Humans and their leaps of logic astounded him, that and the fact that they were usually right.

“Oh god, it’s bad isn’t it?” Jim demanded, roughly pushing Spock’s head away and peering down at his leg. “Jesus.”

The wound itself was regenerating and healing, frankly, quite well in their situations, but black lines had started to creep up his veins, highlighting them as if they were a star chart. Jim stared at it in horror.

“It appears to be entering your bloodstream,” Spock informed him, rather needlessly, but he felt like he had to do _something_. “I-”

“It’s poisoning me,” Jim swallowed thickly. “Something coated on the claw must’ve poisoned me. That, or I’m becoming... _god_ , this sounds like a terrible zombie movie. I’m becoming one of them.”  
  
“I highly doubt that,” Spock sniffed in disdain, and set about to spraying and injecting various medicines into his leg, much to his displeasure. “You are not near the biological makeup of the people of Iro, and your hair should be turning white before any black streaks appear in your veins.”

“My hair will turn white anyway,” Jim patted his head. “One of the signs of growing old, so don’t be alarmed if you find one or two grey strands.”

“I am aware, Jim,” Spock’s eyes twinkled, which was the only sign he was playing around. “I can see quite a few.”

“That was a joke,” Jim stared. “Yes, right? It _was!_ I knew you had a sense of humour in there somewhere.”

Spock pressed his lips together and did not reply.

“You’re just trying to stop yourself from laughing. It’s natural. I’ll wait,” Jim spread his hands open, and Spock nearly snorted. He resolved for a look, and Jim burst into laughter.

“You are in an awfully good mood for someone slowly being poisoned by an unidentifiable substance.”

“Well, what can I do about it?” Jim asked, quietly. “Nothing much, and I refuse to spend my last few moments moping about.”

“You are not going to die.”

“You sound awfully certain. Got a cure up your sleeve?”

“We will think of something.”

“ _Sure_ , of course we will.”

“Do not doubt my abilities and your luck.”

“My luck’s all run out by now,” Jim smiled ruefully.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Ass.”

“I am not a donkey.”

“You have to stop doing that. I’m _dying_ , the least you could do is be nice to me.”

“I am extremely nice to you.”

“Y’know, I actually believe that.”

“Give me your leg, I am taking a sample of your blood, see if we can synthesize an antidote,” Spock grumbled, yanking Jim toward him and pulling a syringe out of his survival kit.

“You’re starting to sound like Bones,” Jim said faintly, pressing his head against the wall. “Y’know how we became friends?”

“I am not familiar with the story,” Spock replied and jabbed the needle right into the wound without preempting. Jim swore and clutched tightly onto his shoulders.

“We- it was on the shuttle for new recruits,” Jim got out between choked breaths. “He sat down beside me and told me he might throw up on me.”

“That does not sound pleasant.”

“He was welcome company,” Jim laughed, albeit one full of pain. “He was a kindness to someone who needed it the most. Y’know,  I didn’t have any friends? Bones just sat down next to some complete stranger, looked at him and decided _shit, this man child thing will die on his own_ and just like that he became a fixed point in my life.”

“I have noticed that the more vitriolic the Doctor becomes, the more he cares,” Spock acknowledged. “I once witnessed him berating Ensign Chekov for thirty minutes because he accidentally cut his finger open on a scalpel.”

Jim laughed softly. “Sounds like Bones all right,” followed by, “poor Chekov, I left him in charge, hope he’s doing alright.”

“Jim?” Spock asked, but Jim was dropping slowly off to sleep again.  
  
Spock covered him with three of the blankets and stepped outside of the cave. Dawn was just breaking, the sky was burning with orange and red. This planet had two moons, Spock noticed, from the faint impressions in the sky.

He meandered around outside for a while, stretching and wondering what to do. He resolved to find food- Jim acted like he was wholly unconcerned, content to eat his protein nibs, but Spock knew when Jim was deathly afraid. That, and the fact that  every time the mention of food had come up- not only did Jim actually remember to actively shield, he also got the same look in his eyes he had when the food replicators had stopped working fifty days into their mission, caused Spock to remain suspicious.

They had got it working in less than twelve hours, but Jim- Jim had hid in his quarters and shook and Spock didn't understand why it would affect him so much, why it would cause him more fear than fighting Nero.

He had not asked. If Jim wanted to tell him, he would, but prying was not something that Vulcans did.

This time he went further than a mile, scouring the trees with the tricorder to find something that Jim could eat- he found a different kind of berries that, when the skin was removed, were actually sweet, and a kind of root vegetable buried so deep in the ground Spock had to tug with every ounce of his strength to get it out.

The high humidity in the region was adversely affecting him- he could feel his lungs straining with the added moisture. There would definitely be some lung damage by the time they were done here. He resented this planet for holding them hostage, realised it was illogical to hate a _planet_ , and so removed that feeling.

He tried contacting the Enterprise again, but all he got was static, so he walked back to the cave, deep in thought about what could attack the Enterprise to send it scurrying away. He thought of Ensign Chekov’s leadership abilities. It was not the zombies, they did not seem capable of piloting a ship. He hoped.

He wasn’t sure how far away he was when something screamed in his head, something full of fear and pain and oh, oh that’s Jim, that’s Jim’s scream, and he bolted. He leapt down the overhang and turned into the cave, and sure enough Jim was backed up against the wall, quaking and shivering, radiating fear.

Spock dashed to him, pulled his body toward him and asked, “Jim?”

“Spo-Spock,” Jim gasped, reaching out for his face. “That-”

Spock turned to look in the direction his face was, and saw him looking at the back of  a small, rodent like creature. A bit like a rabbit, actually. He wondered why the rabbit would cause Jim distress. If anything, they could cook it-

“Spock,” Jim sucked in air. “That rabbit has no face.”

Spock wondered if Jim was hallucinating, as an after effect of the poison. “Jim,” he said quietly. “I need you to calm down.”

“Calm- calm down?” Jim asked incredulously. “That _thing_ has no fucking face! I mean it!”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

“For the love of _fuck_ , trust me,” Jim pointed at the rabbit. “I swear to you. It has no face, Spock.”

Spock sighed and quietly walked up to the rabbit. One of his footsteps accidentally disturbed a stone, and the rabbit whirled around to face him- and Spock recoiled so hard from it he nearly fell over backwards. Unless both he and Jim were dreaming, to say that the rabbit had no face was an understatement.

It’s entire front appeared to be chewed away, exposing raw bits of flesh and its skull was also missing in several places. No eyes, no nose- Spock did not even know how this thing was alive. It considered him, let out a deathly rattle, and leapt at him.

Simultaneously, something tackled him from behind, a hand slid up his thigh- Spock was going to punch something in the _face_ , but then the hand withdrew his phaser from its sheath and fired multiple times at the rabbit.

Spock spun around and slammed the offending thing up against the wall- only for it to reveal Jim, milimetres from his face, panting and shaking from the exertion of hobbling the two metres here, still clutching the phaser. “Sorry,” he whispered. “But that thing-”

“You killed it,” Spock said. It was not a question.

Jim nodded gravely, eyes roving about Spock’s face as though searching for something. “I don’t do that, normally.”

“Then why?”

“Because- radiation must’ve changed it, or it must’ve gotten into the hands of those zombies, but it was suffering- and it leapt at you-”

“And you were scared.”

“Terrified,” Jim said softly, such that if Spock hadn’t been so close he would not have heard it. It was then that he realised how close they were- Jim was fully flush against him, he had one leg in between Jim’s thighs, his hands clenched around his shoulders.

Spock stepped back as if he’d been scalded, stumbling over his feet in his haste to get away. “I will perform an autopsy to understand how it survived. You should rest again.”

Jim sagged against the wall. “Yeah- yeah sure okay.”

Spock held out his arm, and together they managed to lead Jim back to the alcove in which he had been sleeping. It was there that Jim asked, “how did you know I was in trouble anyway?”

“You are always in trouble,” he deadpanned, but then said, more quietly, “You think very loud.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean that you broadcasted a telepathic signal of abject fear,” he said. “Did you learn that from shielding? Furthermore, we have been attacked by a time-travelling Romulan, fired upon by dozens of Klingon warbirds, been hunted by a superhuman madman- which then subsequently killed you, in case you have forgotten, and yet it is the sight of a faceless rabbit that has you terrified?”

“Well, I signed up for those,” Jim was not pouting, but it was deeply rooted in the tone of his voice. “Y’know, evil aliens hell bent on revenge, yada yada, _death,_ but faceless rabbits and zombies poisoning me? No. As for telepathically broadcasting- nah, didn’t know I was doing that. Guess you’re just receptive towards me, eh?”

Spock shook his head ever so slightly as he set up a pot from their survival kits. “I believe I am not familiar with the term, ‘yada yada.’” He boiled the root vegetable and set about mashing the berries while Jim hummed an old Terran song in the background.

“It’s an expression, Spock,” Jim murmured. “Kinda like et cetera, only with added attitude.”

He estimated that the root would take fifteen minutes to soften, so while waiting he tried the Enterprise three times and got nothing. Eventually, Jim gently took the communicator away from him. “I’m sure they’ll call us when they’re ready.”

Spock did not reply, but he did not have to to convey his doubt. Judging from the pained expression on Jim’s face as he looked at the communicator, he had the same worries too. Instead, he cut up the root with a knife Jim had had sheathed on his back- ( _“You had a hidden knife on your back?” “Well, we usually get our phasers taken away the minute we land on a planet. I like to be prepared. Y’know, it’s logical.”_ ).

“Eat,” he told Jim, and shoved the cut up root with the mashed berries in front of his face. “You need to keep up your strength.”

“Do you have some too?”

Spock held up his own, and Jim grinned at him before taking a bite. The root tasted terrible, though less so with the berries. He could tell that Jim disliked it too, but uncharacteristically of him he did not comment on it.

When he was done, he pushed aside the leaves they were eating from and instead got to work on the rabbit. He identified it as an _olio_ , a species not native to the land. Perhaps that was why the radiation affected it so badly. Its bloodstream definitely had traces of polonium and lead in its bloodstream. “Jim,” Spock called, from where he’d been doing his work out of the cave. “You were not wrong. It was in a lot of pain before it died.”

“Doesn’t make what I did any better, but thanks!” Jim called back, sounding slightly bitter.

Spock sighed as he came back into the hut, armed with more water. “How is your wound?”

“It's starting to hurt,” Jim said, and that was an understatement. Spock was no doctor, and he did not have the eye for the business as McCoy, but he knew what a bad inhale of breath sounded like, sticky and painful.

Spock tilted his head at him ever so slightly. “Jim,” he started, slowly, and Jim backed away from him so fast you’d have thought he was another faceless rabbit.

“Oh no, whaddya want, you always use that voice when you want something but don't want to outwardly say you want something ‘cause Vulcans don’t do that or whatever-”

“Jim,” Spock interrupted him. “I was going to ask if you would be open to the idea of a mind-meld in order to establish the extent of your injuries.”

“Oh,” he stopped. “Aren't mind-melds supposed to be really intimate?”

“They are,” Spock forced him to drink some of the water. “But in this case I sense we have very little choice.”

Jim considered him. Moments passed before he nodded and made a gesture that Spock had come to understand to mean ‘come here’.

He placed his hands on Jim’s psi points and said, almost like an afterthought, “do not be alarmed.”

It was the wrong thing to say, as he definitely got very alarmed. “Why would you say that?” Spock-”

Spock ignored him and instead reached out his mind, searching for Jim’s.  “My mind to your mind,” he said softly. _My thoughts to your thoughts._

Jim was- he was bright, endlessly bright, it was like walking in a forest with the sun dappling on your skin through the branches, spending time idly wondering if the shadows flitting across your skin were really green. It was warm but not hot; the cool breeze on your face at the peak of a hill,  smelling vaguely of salt and wonder. It was bright sand between your toes, grounding and _real_ , watching the waves crash themselves endlessly on the shore, the dying sun reflecting off the sea like a promise. It was finding rocks that matched your eye colour for no reason other than doing it, it was peace and excitement and wonderment all condensed into a single person.

  
Spock closed his eyes and basked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is _still_ dying. You'd think he'd have learnt better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! So I'm actually uploading this on the 12th, a Friday, 'cause I'll be super busy on Sat and probably won't be able to upload. Sigh. The one time I try to schedule my posting and I fail immediately. Oh well. 
> 
> First, say hello to Jim's POV! It was so fun writing from his 'cause there's so much more you can say and its hilarious. Second, there will probably be only one or two more chapters left (but do not think shit won't go down in the next few chapters 'cause the storm that's a-coming is huge. No lie.)
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all the support! It means so much to me, honestly, and is my main inspiration. Love y'all!

Jim knew his mind was completely uncategorised. Spock would probably find it disorienting, or something, so he focused on painting his mind to be like a hallway, lined with doors on each side. The doors led to individual places- hell, one door was solely reserved for what Jim thought of Earth movies, which was extensive. Two doors, however, were kept locked at all times. He could feel Spock tugging curiously on them, but refused to grant him access, and so he left it.

The hallway, however, soon became more like a jungle, overgrown with trees and roots and flowers. He still had his doors however, though they were mossy and slightly green. He growled in frustration, but a waft of happiness and contentment floated out from Spock, so out of place and unexpected that Jim stopped trying to force his mind into something that it wasn't.

His thoughts randomly floated by like clouds in the sky, bumping awkwardly into Spock. The first thought was, "wow, weird" and the second one was "hey, are you hearing this?"

"Stop that!" "I know you can hear me." "How do I stop these?" "Damnit, Spock, you make it look so easy." "Wait, I think I got it." "No I don't." "I'll figure it out."

Spock seemed to know something, because when the exact likeness of himself appeared on the carpet lining the hallway, he waited. Jim forced his thoughts together and slowly assembled himself- after all, this was his mind, and it would obey him.

His hands were a little see through, but given it was his first, well, _consenting_ meld, he thought it went pretty well. Spock seemed proud of him too, if the softness in his eyes were anything to go by. "This is amazing," he declared, and reached forward to pat the sides of Spock's face because he wanted to see if he was corporeal.

He was. His hands made a distinct pat pat on his skin and Jim stared in complete fascination.

Behind Spock's person, his hallway ended, and something- something akin to a museum loomed behind him. He could feel it, radiating calm and a slight tinge of amusement, but when he made as if to step over the line where his hallway ended and Spock's museum began, Spock made a disapproving noise and said, "that is not what we came for."

"I want to see it," Jim said, softly.

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure you will have ample opportunity to do so when you are not dying."

"I'm always dying," Jim shrugged, but he let it be. Instead, he took Spock's hand and led him to a door, which, after a moment's hesitation, he pushed open.

"You have remarkable control over your mind," Spock whispered, like it was something he had not intended for Jim to hear, but they were in his head and so he heard everything.

"That's a high praise, coming from you," Jim grinned at him, but there was something amiss in his smile. Spock could feel it prodding at his skin, daring him to find out why there were two locked doors, why Jim took such careful consideration to ensure he could not enter and find out what was kept behind them.

"It is high praise from a Vulcan," Spock corrected, and stepped through the door.

Jim could feel him digging around in his head, a kind of swooping presence, like a cool shadow from a passing bird flying overhead. He was about to ask him if he found anything, but then something inside snapped, like a thread being cut, and Jim was tossed so violently into the real world he became nauseous.

Spock seemed to be reeling from something, and immediately he wondered if his six locks on his doors broke and he found out what was inside them. However, judging from the way Spock looked at him, almost pityingly- almost sorrowful, Jim knew.

"I'm dying," Jim deadpanned. "That much I knew already."

"You are experiencing organ failure," Spock replied, a steel in his voice- he was hiding something, an emotion, and it brought forth the Vulcan within. It was these little things that let Jim know, without a shred of doubt, that Spock cared, that he would always care, that he would always hate himself for caring. "Your lungs are slowly filling up with liquid. The black streaks do not have to reach your heart to kill you."

"How long do I have?" Jim asked. He was beginning to wonder if the nausea was not from the mind-meld, but from the poison in his blood.

Spock looked at him coldly, which meant, of course, the exact opposite. "Two days. At most."

Jim let out a breath he did not know he was holding in. He supposed it was easier when his cells were getting irradiated beyond belief because at least it was semi-instant, at least he was going out the way he always dreamed he would- saving people, letting his newfound family breathe again. Saving Spock. When he was unconscious after being revived, he dreamt that it was Spock who slid behind the door, Spock who left him with nothing, Spock who died for everyone. When he awoke, he was so convinced it was true that even the sight of his Spock nodding respectfully down at him could not help to assuage his grief.

Now, he was dying because he was careless and stupid and he was going to crawl to his end. But at least he had Spock, next to him, face all guarded and pinched up because he couldn't show he cared.

"Seems kinda a pattern," Jim murmured. "You standing beside me while I die."

Spock glared at him, and that made every nerve in his body sing.

"I am right," he coughed. God, did things just take a turn for the worse because he felt like everything he should have been feeling the past two days had been condensed into one blow. "We make a good team, don't we?"

"I believe we do," Spock whispered, and shifted his body so that at least some part of it was in contact with Jim. "We have not failed as yet, and we will not fail now."

Jim raised his eyebrows and chuckled weakly. "Never pegged you for an optimist."

"You will find I can still surprise you, Captain," he replied, and then they were silent.

* * *

 An hour after they'd stopped talking- Jim had stared into the emptiness of the cave, mentally sung seven Earth songs and imagined what life would be like if he was back on the ship and sitting in his chair and ruffling Chekov's hair as he told him he'd be a fine Captain, watching Spock out of the corner of his eyes, always looking but never touching.

Spock had gone out to get firewood and food. He'd left angrily- Jim could tell by the tension in his shoulders, and he felt oddly touched by his rage against his powerlessness to help him. He fell asleep when he'd left, dreaming of stars exploding in his face, of him shattering where they touched him. Spock woke him up, telling him to stop screaming or he'd nerve pinch him and that'd be the end of things.

So Jim was awake again, staring into nothing, feeling his numbered days weigh down on him like an anvil. He turned to Spock, who was noticeably sitting further away from him than he had before. To others, they would be offended, to Jim, he knew Spock was shaken up inside. So he said, "I'm going to die for the second time and I don't even know your favourite colour."

Spock looked up slowly. "To show preference over a colour is illogical."

"And yet, here we are," Jim spread open his hands. "Okay, fine, I'll do it in Spock-speak. Which colour do you believe to be the most aesthetically pleasing?"

Spock relaxed ever so slightly and he counted it as a personal win. "Green," Spock replied, after a moment's consideration.

"Why?"

"There was little green on Vulcan," he replied. "When I got to Earth, there were lawns and trees and plants, and it was...different, to say the least."

Jim nodded, as if he understood a point Spock had been trying to get at. Instead of pushing it, however, he said, "mine's silver. Like the moon, y'know? When I was younger, looking at it always made me feel less alone."

"I was under the impression that looking at the stars seemed to make humans feel insignificant," the reply is faint, but present. Jim secretly smiles because he knows that Spock is using humans as a stand in for himself. It was a wonder how no one else could see through his mask of logic and calm defiance. Spock said 'yes sir' like it meant 'fuck you', said 'fascinating' when he meant 'THAT IS SO FUCKING COOL' with at least six exclamation points, said 'Vulcans do this' when he meant 'I can't do this because I need to be a hundred percent Vulcan in order to combat the fact that I am half-human.'

"Nah, not for me. It's always made me feel peaceful," he replied. "Now are you going to come sit next to me, or are you gonna stay in that corner and mope your way through my impending death?"

Spock looked offended. Jim stared at him expectantly and was rewarded when he did the shuffle of shame and moved closer to him.

"How bout we play a game?" Jim suggested. "I ask you a question then you ask me a question."

Spock said, "I do not suppose we have better things to do."

Jim grinned. "What was your favourite planet that we've been on?"

"Omega Four," Spock answered immediately.

"Why?"

"I believe it is my turn to ask a question," Spock replied, stiffly- so he was still affected by Jim, y'know, being a day away from death and all that. "Why is part of your medical records blocked out?"

Jim jerked so hard he nearly flung himself into the fire. Pain lanced up his leg, and he nearly yelped. He bit hard on his tongue and looked away. "Why're you looking through my medical records?"

"You have too many allergies for me not to be aware of them."

"Bones gave them to you," Jim shook his head, smiling fondly in spite of himself. "He cares too much."

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. Jim sighed. He had avoided talking about his childhood- avoided talking about it so much that Bones had literally held him by the shoulders and demanded to know if he had in any way been abused as a child, because if so, he would hunt that bastard down and poison him, Hippocratic Oath be damned.

For his first real friend, Bones was a catch.

When Spock first asked about it, they were playing chess in his quarters. Jim had been three moves away from checkmate when he'd suddenly asked, "Why is that you refrain from talking about your life back on Earth?"

Jim had never run so fast from a room before, and Spock had never brought it up again. Apparently, Vulcans do not pry, except when Jim labels prying a game and he's going to die in twenty-four hours.

"I apologise if I asked something too personal," Spock said harshly, and Jim realised with a start he'd been silent for too long. "It was not my intention."

Jim felt something like a weight on his heart, something he'd carried ever since he crashed a red Corvette and never lost. He wonders, for the first time, whether it would be better to just tell someone that wasn't Bones, someone he actually- actually really wanted to know. He doesn't know if he has the balls, but when he sees Spock looking at him with a sort of- he thinks he could call it reverence, he thinks that maybe he could.

He had nothing to lose after all, and nothing to gain from a Vulcan who did not do pity. After all, even the fact that he was George Kirk's son had had no effect on the way Spock treated him since the start- that is to say, like an asshole.

"No," Jim said so softly that it was barely a word and more of an exhalation. He cleared his throat and started again. "Um, it's one of the locked doors."

Spock gently, ever so slightly, pushed his shoulder into Jim's, as if it could bring him comfort. It did. He wondered where he picked that up.

"Um," Jim got out. "Wow, this is hard. So- um, I was- after I- god, for fuck's sake. I was on Tarsus IV."

Spock actually jerked slightly, drawing his back so ramrod straight Jim thought he'd break it or something. "That was not what I expected."

"Boy, haha, that sure was fucked up right," Jim grinned painfully at him. He was back to using humour as a defence mechanism because he never learnt how to properly process emotion. It's kind of fucked up, how much he represses. "It's totally chill though."

"I do not believe that all is 'chill'," he replied. "Do- do you wish to talk about it?"

"Not really," Jim scooted his free leg up to him. He felt like throwing up again. "My turn. Why is Omega Four your favourite?"

Spock thought for a while before answering. "The trees," he said, and there, right there- that's reverence and awe in his voice. "They were like an ocean. They had red leaves and maroon trunks, and the deeper you went into the forest, the taller and thicker the trees would become, and the animals were bigger and darker and rarer. We went in as far as it was chartered, and we saw beasts as big as houses, and more even bigger. It was- unlike anything I'd seen before."

Jim felt like something was exploding in his brain. He nearly doubled over from a tidal wave of pain that swamped his person. Biting back his anger at his body for betraying him, he straightened out his shoulders and composed a reply.

"We should go again sometime," he tried to say, but his tongue refused to obey him and so he ended up with a slurred version of his sentence, the words mashed together incoherently.

Spock turned to him so fast, he was actually able to catch and prevent him from hitting his head on the floor as he passed out.

* * *

 Jim came to abruptly, blinking against the brightness. He was staring right up into his First Officer's face, who was busy looking elsewhere and so did not notice.

He wondered how he was getting this angle- Spock's face looked more chin than anything, and then realised that he was in his lap. Which was unexpected.

Jim decided then and there that he would pass out from intense pain again if it meant that Spock would rest his head in his lap. His head was literally on top of his crotch.

It took mentally slapping himself to remember about touch telepathy and shielding, and by then Spock had already noticed he was awake.

"You were out for four hours and fifty two minutes," Spock declared by way of greeting. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't wake up."

Jim smiled dopily at him, reaching out his hands against his body's protests and gently brushing them against his face. "If this is the view I get I'll always wake up."

Woah. Where has that come from? He frowned and tried to think, but his thoughts were all foggy and clouded. He did feel oddly loose limbed and relaxed, and did not pay much attention to the fact that his mouth practically had no filter.

"Am I high?" He slurred.

"We are approximately thirty metres above the sea level. As such, you are not very high."

"No, Spock," Jim flailed his hands around. He realised that neither had he made an attempt to move, nor had Spock moved him. It made him feel all tingly. "I mean…like, how drugged up am I?"

"Oh. Very, sir," Spock replied almost ruefully. "You were experiencing a severe migraine. I was beginning to believe it was a brain haemorrhage."

Jim smiled at him, still making no attempt to get up. Instead, he shifted his body until he was facing the fire (and not staring at Spock's ripped science-blues- he could see hints of Spock's skin through the tears and it did things to him, things that should not be thought about when in contact with a touch telepath). He could feel the tension arch though Spock like a wildfire, but then, inexplicably, he did not say anything. His hands, from resting at his sides, came to settle themselves on Jim's shoulders.

"Don't make me move," he whined, nudging Spock's hands off him. "'M comfortable."

Spock seemed at a loss as to what to do, because he did not reply. Instead, however, he replaced his hands on his shoulders.

Softly, he said, "Jim?"

He made a quiet noise of assent, as if by speaking he could ruin- whatever it was that was happening.

" _S'ti th'laktra_ ," Spock whispered, and the words carried a tranquility that lifted and saved him. Somehow, he knew exactly what Spock was referring to. "I grieve with thee."

Jim stifled a pathetic noise by biting hard on his lip, resolutely not looking at Spock because if he did he would fall apart. His body was now in constant pain, he could feel it burning on the edge of his skin, breathing was difficult and he had ceased to feel anything in his leg.

But Spock slid his hands from his shoulders and moved it to Jim's head, delicately carding his fingers through the matted hair, smoothening out the ends and he thought that if he died in his sleep right now, it wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

* * *

 

He woke to the sound of silence. Spock had left; his head was resting on a pile of discarded blankets. He tried sitting up and the room spun so fiercely Jim had to lie down and count to fifty. The morning sun was filtering into the cave, and he played with the sunbeams that seemed to twist and bend around his hands.

Maybe he was hallucinating, he wondered, as a purple moth landed on his arm and fluttered gently. He concluded that yes, he was, when the embers of the night's fires started to speak to him. He listened out of morbid curiosity and abject boredom, but the fire only told him things he already knew, just had not come to terms with as yet…like his feelings for Spock, which after last night could hardly be classified as platonic.

Except, of course, the bit where he was dying and the second bit where Spock insists Vulcans do not love, and the third bit where they were stranded on a planet inhabited by radioactive zombies with no means of escape.

Other than that, Jim was positive that they could work out as a couple. After all, Spock doesn't touch everyone, and yet last night not only had he consented to letting him stay in his lap, he had also run his fingers through his hair. That was some relationship shit right there… and he should probably focus on living so that there could actually be a, y'know, a relationship.

Spock came back a moment later, dispelling the visions. He forced- and by forced, Jim meant tipping his head back and pinching his nose shut to get Jim to eat the protein nibs and water he had brought, but five minutes later Jim was stumbling, one leg dead and useless behind him, to the edge of the overhang and retching into the sea.

Spock made a displeased noise, but Jim could tell he was more worried than anything. Which made him feel all warm and happy inside. Because Jim was a sucker for constant attention and validation, and getting someone who liked no one to like him meant a lot for his incredibly low self-esteem regarding his personality.

The world spun, Spock jabbed him in the back of his neck with a hypospray and Jim cried out wildly. He tripped over his own feet and fell, the world spun and spun and spun and he couldn't breathe and his leg screamed out, "let's name him after your dad- I dare you to do better- _you were barely dead_ -" and there were faces, oh god- and they flew at him and he ducked and fell over the edge- down down down and broke his back on the stones at the bottom.

He jerked awake, shouting hoarsely, until Spock wrestled with him and told him he was perfectly alright for their circumstances. Shivering, he looked around and found that Spock had arranged him in such a way that he was sitting on his lap again. He pushed his face into the crook of Spock's neck and tried to calm his breathing, and Spock smelt- actually, rather nice. Sort of earthen and spicy. Normally, Jim was warmer than him, one of the benefits of adapting to live in a desert, but now it was the other way around and he could feel the warmth of his cold nose against his neck.

Jim was suitably startled when the reality of where he was had sunk in, but he had no strength to ask Spock why- and there was, of course, the obvious fact that he didn't quite mind. Lazily, the thought occurred to him that Spock might be trying to get as much physical contact with him before he died, and that caused him so much anguish that it actually slipped past his shields and had Spock asking him if he was alright.

"I feel like I'm shattering," Jim murmured against his skin, pressing small, barely there kisses to his collarbone. Spock didn't say anything about them, just told him gently to go back to sleep.

* * *

 

He awoke violently to Spock actually shouting. He tried to get up, his body screaming, knowing that something terrible had to be happening for Spock to raise his voice beyond optimal indoor volume but was surprised when Spock pushed him back onto the floor and snarled at him to stay there and do not move.

Well. Jim blinked in silent assent (if he didn't feel like he'd been thrown off several cliffs, he would have found that extremely hot) and did not try to get up again, at least not until Spock had come over to him with his knife glowing red-hot and a leaden expression on his face.

"This will hurt," he said stiffly. "I will render you unconscious now."

"No-" Jim choked, wild-eyed and frightened, scrabbling away from Spock. Had he been- could he be turned? He did not have white hair- had he snapped? Jim made it fifteen centimetres when Spock leaned over and delivered a brutal nerve pinch, and he was out like a candle in the wind.

* * *

 

When Jim woke up again, he felt two things. One, his leg had returned feeling and ached like a son of a bitch, and two, he felt marginally better. Which was weird.

He blinked hard against the spots in his eyes before sitting up, surprised when the usual pang of dizziness did not overcome him- and that's when he remembered Spock and the knife and the nerve pinch and he pushed so hard off the floor his back hit the wall, but it was too late and Spock was already turning around to look at him.

Jim stared at him, until Spock broke and said, "it is not what you believe."

"Really. 'Cause I seem to remember you coming at me in the dark with a red-hot knife, Spock. What is not what I believe?"

"I realised the cause for your poison," he said solemnly, and came over to sit by him. Jim had to fight all his flee instincts not to flinch away from him. This was Spock, and he wouldn't- he wouldn't intentionally hurt him. "I had to get it out of your system right away, and there was no anaesthetic to ease the pain."

"What was it?"

In reply, Spock pulled out a bundle of leaves from a little hole in the wall. He handed it to Jim expectantly, who looked at him suspiciously before opening it. Nestled amongst the green was a small, stained shard of bone, only about a centimetre in length. Jim picked it up between his fingers, and turned it around in his hands.

"You were being poisoned by a piece of alien bone marrow that had gotten lodged inside when it stabbed you with its claw, and had not fallen out by itself," he said. "I apologise that I had not considered it as an option before it was nearly too late."

"You saved me," Jim exhaled, feeling extremely guilty for even doubting him for a second. "C'mon, take credit where credit is due. If you weren't around-"

"You would be very much dead, sir," he replied, and there's a hint of a smile playing around his mouth.

"What would I do without you Spock?" Jim breathed, like it was an understanding, a realisation, an epiphany the culmination of all their time spent together.

Spock looked down at his feet and said, "I do not know, but I cannot imagine a world where it is- not my purpose to protect you."

Jim did not miss the way the tips of his ears flared a dark green. He privately thought it was adorable. He also privately thought he wanted to bite at them. He opened his mouth to say as much but then, suddenly decided against it. It was almost like whatever had drawn them to each other while he was delirious and in pain had vanished now that he was- well, okay.

He picked at his bandages, looked away, cleared his throat. Spock straightened his back and said, "we need more food." and promptly left.

Jim asked the silence, "what do I do?"

The silence didn't reply. It never did. He resolved to throwing rocks to see if he could hit this one white spot on a stagalamite. He got it only once, but the euphoria of it carried him through for half an hour, which was also when he started actively talking to himself and discussing topics out loud, which made for some raised eyebrows when Spock got back. Jim was just glad that the first topic he addressed was Spock and so he did not accidentally hear it, which would lead to a lot more than raised eyebrows.

Preferably, it would lead to Spock pushing him up against the wall like he did when Jim went for his phaser- it was the hottest experience of his life and he'd had many experiences, thank you very much. But logically? Spock would let him down none too gently, and they'd carry on heedless of the crushing weight on Jim's heart that would give a small pang every time he looked at his first officer, which would get in the way of his command, which would lead to Spock transferring out because he's a everyone's needs before my own bastard, which would lead to Jim going to his grave sad and alone and missing what he could never have and wow, he's really overthinking this isn't he? God, he's _pathetic_ and he's- he's been staring at Spock, who was now casting vaguely concerned looks in his general direction, so he stuffed three protein nibs in his mouth and smiled through the urge to throw them up.

* * *

 

So he's been spending way too long watching Spock sleep- apparently, since their first night, he had not gone to bed and that was absolutely unacceptable even for a Vulcan, so Jim had pulled rank and forced him to. There's something- peaceful, about watching him sleep. His face, while expressionless as ever, seemed to smoothen out and relax minutely, as if his body itself was under stress just from keeping him together. He reached out a tentative hand, but withdrew it as quickly.

But then he reached out again and lightly ran his fingers through his hair- it wasn't as matted as his and still looked shiny, must be some Vulcan genetics causing semi-perfect hair despite having not showered in days- Spock didn't even react, so he kept the action up until he decided that he should probably stop.

"How will we get out of this one?" He asked, but he got no reply.

He supposed that was how.

* * *

 

Jim would tell you that he had enough life-or-death situations for three lifetimes, but there was something about him that actually liked it. He, however, did not enjoy coming face-to-face with the same things that had crippled him and made him almost die. And he still could, if the wound got infected. Which it would, knowing his immune system.

Because, a minute ago, the ceiling of the cave they were in cracked louder than Bones' back, and Spock was awake so fast it was almost alarming. Jim whipped his head up to the ceiling just in time to see it collapse down the middle.

When the dust had cleared and he'd stopped coughing, he found himself to be surrounded by a dozen of the zombies. A few of them were crushed by the fallen rocks, but the main group didn't seem to mind.

They looked around the cave first, as if they did not mean to fall down into the cave, before one pointed the two of them out. They all let out a collective chitter much like a gasp upon seeing them. They considered him, standing in a semi-circle in front of him chittering amongst themselves. One pointed at his leg, and they continued to chitter. Finally, as though coming to a consensus, the biggest one picked him up and slung him none too gently over its shoulder. Another one held Spock in a bridal carry, his face a mess of green blood. He must've gotten hit when the ceiling came down. Something inside Jim roared and his vision whited-out, but try as he might he could not move- any action jarred his leg and caused him to nearly pass out.

Which he promptly did when they were carried out of the cave and along the coastline, and his captor slammed his head into a branch overhead.

His final thought was whether quitting Starfleet would serve any benefit to him.

* * *

 

Jim came to slowly, like he was opening his eyes underwater. He registered- nothing. There was no pain, no underlying ache that had been plaguing him for centuries, just complete and utter health.

He sat bolt upright; rolled up his pant leg and saw that the wound he had been cursed by was healed over messily, a starburst of scar tissue where a hole should've been. It lacked precision and finesse like Bones would've done, it was almost as if someone just knew that a skin regenerator would work and just stuck it on and hoped for the best.

Looking around wildly, he registered a set of flimsy wooden bars across a doorway. They were being kept in a makeshift prison by some underestimating captors, because Spock could, if he tried, bend metal (which again, was super fucking hot), so busting them out of a few wooden planks covering some sort of cave should not be a problem.

Speaking of Spock- he was propped in a corner, not yet awake, so Jim crawled over to him- the ceiling was low, just like the tunnel leading to the throne room. Spock, just by sitting up, nearly managed to brush the ceiling. He gave him a couple of shakes and he startled awake, swinging Jim around and pinning him to the ground.

Lesson learnt: do not roughly awaken a sleeping Vulcan, unless you're into said Vulcan, which would make this unbearably sexy and awkward.

Spock loomed over him. Jim's gaze flicked between his lips (absolutely kissable, though further data would be required), and his eyes, which widened fractionally in surprise as he took in his surroundings. There was a little bandage on his head where he must've gotten cut. It looked cute against his black hair. Jim mentally berated himself for being sap; it was almost nauseating.

They stayed like that for a moment too long to call it an accident, but then Spock was off him like nothing ever happened and demanding to know where they were.

Jim stayed on his back and blessed whatever deity was out there for that moment, before sitting up and saying, "we've been kidnapped by the zombies, but at least they healed me up."

"They healed you?" Spock asked, sounding as bewildered as a Vulcan can, so Jim pushed up his pant leg again and showed him the raised scar. Spock traced the outline of it with his fingers and Jim had to think of getting brutally murdered by albino zombies to stop him for jumping his bones right there.

"They healed you too," Jim changed the topic as fast as he could. "You got banged up when the ceiling came down. They gave you a little bandage."

Spock's hand flew up to his face, and then he turned to scrutinise their- frankly sad obstacle between them and freedom. It was almost as if Jim could see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to figure out what to do next. Thankfully, it did not come to that, because the planks were suddenly pulled open- so it wasn't even locked, and a whole gang of the zombies entered, chittering. They were tall enough that they also had to hunch over slightly in the cave, but, as Jim was seeing Spock also come to this realisation- they weren't angry at them.

It was more like having a bunch of inquisitive kittens pawing at you, from they way they patted their heads. Of course, said kittens smelt like sulfur and looked like something straight out of a horror movie- it took every ounce of Jim's bravery not to recoil from them, but he knew he'd be having nightmares about it for ages. One pulled up his pant leg and pressed his wound, sounding excited, and the rest made a uniform chittering noise that Jim took to be cheering. They poked at his face- having three fucking hands to do so meant there were a lot of fingers poking him, their black eyes wide with excitement and- was that curiosity?

He glanced quickly over to Spock- he was being subjected to the same treatment, though most of them were pulling on his ears. Jim expected him to be angry, to shake them off or at least look mildly displeased to find himself in this predicament, but he seemed almost sad. He let them pull on his ears and press fingers into his cheek, take his hands and twirl around, chittering delightedly.

After approximately half an hour, one of them made a different chitter and the others responded in kind, filing out the door like schoolchildren trooping out of the classroom. One even rushed back into pat Jim's face again before darting back into his place in line while the leader berated him. The door swung shut behind them; and the chitters faded into nothing.

Jim stared.

"Captain," Spock called him quietly, and Jim shuffled over to sit across from him because there was a tremor in his voice that Jim had never heard before. Looking seriously at him, he continued, sounding lost, "they are lonely."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard their thoughts," Spock gestured vaguely with his hands. "They are unable to reproduce as a result of the mutation, so their small community is all that is left. They have been here for decades with only themselves, and we are the first outsiders they have known. They are merely lonely."

"Lonely or not," Jim curled his fingers over Spock's hands. "We cannot stay here."

"I know that," he replied, brushing his fingers over his too, before snatching them back and standing. "But I will implore you- try not to hurt them."

"You have my word," Jim promised, because they did seem like children. They were a group of people abandoned by their own kind, and somehow, Jim related. Which, as he was about to learn, was his Worst Most Terrible Idea Ever in the history of all his Terrible Ideas.

Spock looked over at him, nodded slowly, and turned to the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were two miles from the clearing when Leonard McCoy finally decided how he would word his resignation from Starfleet. It went as follows: _My Captain and his XO were stranded on a planet inhabited by zombies. When we went in to save them his Chief Engineer and I were abducted by said Captain's feral birdcat and taken off into god knows where. If I come back alive, I want out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Say hello to Bones, my small angry son- after all, we do need to know what was up with the Enterprise, correct? 
> 
> Sad (not really for me, but I digress) news: There will only be one more chapter until this story is concluded. Fear not! There is an Academy AU in progress, if y'all like my Spock/Kirk and want to see more. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this, and I'll see y'all in the final chapter.

_Meanwhile…_

Leonard would tell you he'd had enough life-and-death situations to last him three lifetimes and he'd mean it. In fact, he did not quite know why he was staying on at Starfleet if he kept getting dragged into Jim Kirk's Deadly Escapade of the Day. However, he quite liked what he had built here on the Enterprise, so he would not let a bunch of _radioactive zombies_ discourage him from continuing, no matter how much they creeped him out.

He'd never felt as relieved as he had when the transporter beams had wrapped themselves around his frame, but when they arrived back on the ship Jim-less and Spock-less, (and birdcat-less, though to be honest she was quite far down on his priority scale), well, that feeling evaporated quickly. They were working on getting back their signal when their starboard port had been hit with something, and they were forced out of orbit to evade, no matter Leonard's feelings on it. It made his blood boil, and he was all ready to march into the enemy's ships and _demand_ the return of his best friend and his friend and his not-quite-friend when he remembered something.

Chekov was Captain.

So now he was running to the Bridge because Chekov was small and young and needed to be protected. Jim had left him in charge because their operation was small and basic- Chekov could be introduced to command slowly, except now he was tossed into the oven and left to _bake._ And the oven wasn't even set to preheat.

The turbolift could not go any slower. He aged a decade, just standing there and waiting.

Finally, he burst onto the Bridge to Chekov looking very tiny in the big seat of the Chair, both metaphorically and literally. It then occurred to him that he was the most senior officer present- Uhura was nowhere to be found, and Scotty was below decks probably sobbing about the Enterprise's latest damage.

So he channelled his inner Jim and asked, "Are shields up?"

"Yes," Sulu replied, fingers flying over the console. As usual, he was calm and steady, nothing much seemed to phase him. "We've not taken much damage- shields holding fine."

"Any contact established with the other ship?"

"There are three of them, and we're only getting a very warbled transmission. Lieutenant Uhura is working on it."

"Leave the shields up. We cannot leave the system without Jim and Spock, we don't know if we'll be allowed to return. Hold position and do not fire unless absolutely necessary. Captain- a word," Leonard motioned to the ready room, and Chekov had never been that quick to get off the Bridge, darting into the room as if it could spare him whatever horrors that awaited outside.

Once the door had been shut, Leonard gathered up whatever experience he had as a father and put forth his best _young man_ voice. "Not gonna lie, you're not doing so well out there, are you?"

Chekov scuffed his feet and looked away.

"Listen, Jim chose you to be Captain because he _believed_ in you Pavel," it wasn't a lie, because Jim did. He did, however, also believe in baby steps. This was not a baby step. But then again, Jim became Captain of Starfleet's newest ship by being a complete asshole and taking six gigantic leaps at one go, so he really wasn't the best role model. "So when we get back out there I expect you to gather up whatever strength you have and _lead_ the ship. What are you going to do when you sit back down in the Chair?"

Chekov took a deep breath and said, "Wait for ze demands from ze other ships. We are not equipped to handle heavy engagement."

"Good. Then what?"

"Inform them of our two stranded crew members on the planet Iro. Ask to retrieve them."

Leonard would've kept this up until he had an entire game plan laid down at his feet, but there was no time. Barely two minutes later, Uhura walked through the door, slammed a padd down and said, "They're the people of Iro, can you believe that? Same language and everything."

"What do zhey want?" Chekov asked, his eyes growing serious. It made Leonard feel uncomfortable.

"Us to leave," Uhura crossed her arms, furious. "I told them the Captain would be coming to speak to them."

Chekov straightened his shoulders, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "Let's go."

* * *

 

The people of Iro (Iroese? Ironians?) asked to beam aboard the ship to determine their friendliness. Chekov had hesitated before agreeing, so now they were waiting in the transport room, armed with nothing but overconfidence, hoping that they would not get torn apart in an instant. It was times like this that he _really_ hated his job.

Three people, closely resembling the smashed painting in the house, appeared on their transporter. They had pale green skin, and dark hair neatly coiled up on top of their heads. Their ears were elongated and rounded at the ends, and they seemed almost wary of the ship. They looked down at them for a moment, before holding open all three hands as if to show that they were not armed either.

Chekov stepped forward, his hands twisting themselves to knots behind his back. "I am ze Captain. To whom am I speaking?" The universal translator churned out the words into a sort of high, warbled chitter. Most of the words seemed to resonate on a frequency barely out of human hearing.

The aliens chittered to themselves before the translator beeped out, "We are the diplomats of our race. It is…" the translator paused before continuing, "our pleasure to meet you."

Chekov nodded once, before gesturing to the door. "Zhere is a room where we can discuss matters more privately. If you would follow me?"

They troop obediently out into the corridor and into the briefing room. The chairs are too small for them, so they stand and look around at the room in fascination, but they quickly snap out of it when Chekov asked them why they fired at his ship. ( _His_ ship, Leonard noted with a secret smile. Captain lingo already, and it had barely been two hours.)

"Iro is contaminated," the monotonous voice said. "No one must go there."

"We have friends on that planet," Chekov said carefully. "Zhere was a war. We went to find out what happened."

"If you have friends on the planet, then they are already dead."

"I cannot leave them behind."

"You must."

"How did Iro become contaminated?"

The people pause and look at him. Their third hand captivated Leonard's attention. It was sticking out of the middle of their chest- how did they use it, anyway? What evolutionary benefit did it serve? It was just...there.

"The planet nearby exploded," and though the translator failed to convey it, their bitterness was almost tangible. "It burned our planet. People started to change. They turned bad. We had to leave."

"What did zhe changed people do?" Chekov asked softly.

"They killed their own," the aliens' chittering became frantic. "They would not stop. We will wait until all of them die to come back- many of us have been lost checking on them."

Silence fell upon the room.

"I am sorry for your losses," Chekov bowed his head, and judging from the appreciative chitter the aliens made, they liked that. The only sign of his nervousness was the half-moon shapes on his wrists from where his nails had been digging into the skin- Leonard personally thought he was doing an excellent job. "But if zhere are people who can survive anything, it is my crew, and zhey are left on Iro. We _have_ to get zhem back. You understand, right? You have lost many people. Do not make us lose them too."

The aliens look doubtfully at one another. "If they have not contacted you in seven Iro days," they finally agreed. "You must leave. They cannot have anyone new."

"Why not?"

"They _seluk_ ," was all they replied, the translator unable to convey the meaning of that word.

Uhura and Leonard simultaneously stiffened. Chekov narrowed his eyes and nodded his assent.

* * *

 

The aliens beam back aboard their ship with a promise to return in seven Iro days, which as the computer calculated, was a hundred and forty hours. They had a hundred and forty hours to re-establish communication with Jim and Spock on a planet that naturally opposed it. He hated their odds. Spock could probably calculate the exact number, but he just likened it to ten thousand to one and resisted the urge to punch something.

Twenty hours later, Jim and Spock were still not showing up on any scanner. He ground his teeth in frustration. Spock would probably have known what to do. Hell, Jim would know what to do. They were the leaders of this ship for a reason. They were wickedly intelligent, commanded authority and respect and between the two of them they were space's power couple.

It had taken an entire bottle of brandy to get Jim to fess up to even liking Spock, and half a Romulan ale until he began moping on the counter because _Vulcans don't loveeeee, Bonessss, hee says doesn't loooove, can ya believe that? I don't buy it. Do youuu? Say no. Say no, Bones!_

But if there was anyone Leonard would want Jim to be stranded with on a hostile planet, it was Spock. Because while Jim would go to extraordinary lengths to save Spock's ass, he would do the same in a heartbeat, logic be damned. He saw that after Spock hunted Khan relentlessly through the streets of San Francisco, how he had beat him to an inch of his life because he dared to mess with the one person who really managed to get under his skin and make it his home. And while they would die for each other, there was something else Leonard had noticed in all that time spent patching up their wounds and regrowing bones for them.

They would live for each other.

Twenty six hours. Leonard had run out of medical cabinets to reorganize. Even Nurse Chapel seemed concerned, from the way she looked at him, sad and soft. Eventually, he gathered up his medical field kit and marched to the Bridge, determination resting on his shoulders.

"You've got to beam me and a team down there," Leonard started out, standing firmly in front of his Captain. It still made him shudder to think that. He thought even if Jim died and he got a new Captain permanently- it would never replace him. He would never be his Captain. He thought if Jim died he'd resign. "They're probably hurt. Scotty says we can try to find their location but there's too much interference. It can only be done from the surface of the planet."

Chekov took one look at his face and said, "Even if I refused, you would go anyway."

"That is correct."

"Go."

* * *

 

They beam down on the planet secretly- they are not sure if the aliens in the other ships would approve. The clearing is just as they left it, though more ripped up and wind-swept, and a mild covering of frost coated the grass blades and decorated the trees. The corpses, however, of the...Jim had called them zombies, so that's what he was sticking with, had disappeared. They must've cleared the area. Perhaps they did have emotions, and so were able to understand that they should bury their dead. Or perhaps they _ate_ them. Leonard had once been to a planet where eating one another was perfectly normal, and they'd even asked Jim and him how they managed to spend so much time together and not wind up being each other's lunch. Of course, that person was then promptly eaten by his advisor. They'd left as quickly as they could.

He sends the security team out patrolling, while he went to Jim's last known coordinates. He sees the drops of crimson immediately, dotting the grass and leaving a trail that went off into the forest.

So Jim was injured. He had guessed as much, there was no other reason for him to get thrust out of the beam. He whistled for the security team, and together they follow the dried drops for about a mile, give or take, until it came to a stop. Spock must've applied some sort of tourniquet over here to keep him from bleeding to death. He also must've been unconscious- the drops of blood were quite spaced apart, and Leonard took it to mean he was injured in the leg and Spock was carrying him.

From there, they used their scanners but turned up absolutely nothing. Occasional blips would sound out and they'd all get super excited, but then it would turn out to be a mouse or some bird. Even Tefal was not showing up on the scanners too. He hoped she was with them, but chances are she wasn't.

He would've stayed on, but they had been given four hours before they were expected to return, so they trudged back to the clearing unsatisfied- perhaps even more conflicted than before now that they knew Jim was injured and _out there,_ somewhere, and the fact his immune system had been blown to bits by Tarsus IV and so he was not fancying the potential infections he might contract. Speaking of Tarsus, he wondered if being stranded here would trigger any memories of that time. He hoped not. Jim had to be a hundred percent to survive, even with Spock around.

"Did ya find anything?" Scotty asked the second they materialised on the ship. Leonard held up the blood sample and watched him blanch. "Fuck," he whispered, and Leonard nodded before taking it to the lab, where it is, in fact, Jim's. It made Leonard so angry he wants to burn the planet to the ground. He detested it for holding them captive. He raged powerlessly against his inability to do anything, and finally stomped off to his quarters to get very drunk off the remaining half of the Romulan ale and crash out on his bed.

Before he could do that, however, he headed down to the engineering deck with Scotty to check up on repairs. Apparently the blast managed to overload one of the lithium crystals that their power fed through, so lights kept flickering here and there as the other five tried to regulate the load.

Scotty was up in arms about it. He kept muttering to himself about murdering those three-handed buggers while they slept and if Leonard was being honest he didn't mind letting him go at them with a heavy wrench. He had nothing left to do, but he kept staying, kept finding excuses to peep here and there because he...did not want to go back up there and be alone again.

He assisted where he could, which wasn't much to be fair. He handed tools over when they needed it and healed burns and bruises and even a broken finger. Scotty watched him do this, sitting there on the side of the operations, passing up nuts and bolts and wires without comment. There was a minor incident involving a blowtorch and an unlabelled bottle of lighter fluid, but then went over pretty well with just a few singed eyebrows and a good laugh. Eventually, however, Scotty pulled him aside and asked him what he was doing here.

"I'm helping," Leonard crossed his arms and stared hard at his surroundings. "I think."

"Well no doubt ya are, but doesn't the sickbay need their doctor?" He replied, and he was getting way too close to a topic Leonard did not want to discuss.

"I am beginning to see that most of my patients are coming from here," and he side eyed a man who slammed a hammer onto his thumb. "Nurse Chapel will call me if I am required."

"Ya worried about Jim, aren't ya? All of us are," Scotty's eyes grew sad. "But if there's one person keeping him alive down there it's Spock."

"Why do you think that?"

"Been able to read Jim like an open book ever since he gatecrashed my ice age party. That man's pining like a son of a bitch," Scotty laughed and started to screw back a portion of the wall. Keenser patted his shoulder and handed him a new screwdriver, even though he had never verbally requested for one. It always mystified him, the bond that they had. "Keeps coming down 'ere when Spock's on duty. Says he wants to know how the ship's doing, but when Spock comes to find him he's gone again. Don't tell me ya haven't noticed, doctor."

"Of course I know," Leonard huffed, handing him a new drill bit. He thought if medicine hadn't worked out for him he'd like engineering. They're pretty much the same, just one's alive and the other never was.

"Besides, ya notice Jim has a track record of getting into shitstorms and coming out a-okay, doc. Gotta put a little faith in the man, ya know what I'm saying? So stop giving me the bull about wanting to help down here. We all know ya hiding."

Leonard didn't have a good response to that. He resolved for raising an eyebrow, but Scotty made shoo-ing noises while laughing and he got pushed up to his quarters by the sheer force of his will.

* * *

 

Leonard is extremely drunk when the idea first seeped into his head, but by the time he awoke with a pounding headache and a deep sense of regret he had forgotten it. The first thing he did was check his watch- it had only been twelve hours since he'd returned from the planet, which meant that it had, in total, been forty-two hours. Just a little over two Iro days. He took his pills and grumbled at someone who came in with a broken wrist because he dropped an entire stack load of padds on it.

He was fixing up his bones when he remembered what he had forgotten, and almost burst with the need to ask Chekov about it. He thrust the man into Nurse Chapel's hands without explanation and dashed out into the corridor because Jim was the most important person in his life and he had lost him once and never again.

He remembered what it was like, staring down at Jim's irradiated corpse and knowing it was the end. He remembered how everything had suddenly just..stopped, until a tribble that had been dead suddenly squeaked. As he was administering the blood, he remembered words from ages ago, his Oath he swore to back on Earth. _And above all, I must not play at god. I must not play at god. I must not play-_ but then Jim had opened his eyes and smiled faintly at him and he knew, he knew he would play at god as many times as Jim needed him to.

He wondered why he had developed such an attachment to a man who couldn't seem to stay out of trouble for more than a day and found no answer. It was just one of the things Jim did to the people around him, one more unfathomable aspect of his bright, bright life.

He didn't realise he was on the Bridge until Chekov gently nudged him and asked if he needed assistance. He quickly told him, his words tripping over themselves in their haste to be heard, but then Chekov laughed, high and real, and told him he'd put in the request a little over an hour ago. They were awaiting a response now.

Leonard stared at him and wondered if he had, again as with Sulu, misjudged his character completely.

* * *

 

He would admit to having misgivings about beaming aboard an alien spaceship, but he needed Jim (yes, and Spock, that green-blooded hobgoblin had somehow managed to grow on him, can you believe it? He was like a fungus.) alive and well, and to do so they needed their help.

They did not approve, at first, but then Chekov chimed in with a point about shortening the time available for _seluk_ (which they still did not understand and got no explanation for), and they were all raring to go.

The point was, their instruments were finely tuned to the atmosphere of Iro, after all they lived there. As such, it would be easier for them to use their instruments to locate life signs of two humans, rather than using the Enterprise's. Ideally, it could penetrate the radiation cloud hampering their equipment, and zero in on the two people that mattered.

An hour passed without any word. Leonard started counting the number of tiles in the briefing room they were confined in. Chekov took a nap, his head lolling about on his shoulders. Leonard wondered if he'd been to sleep at all and started wondering if he was going to have to hypo him like he had to Jim on so many occasions.

He lost count of the number of tiles around the two hundredth, but it was alright because several moments later the Ironians came in and handed Chekov something that closely resembled a padd. "We have identified a few beings that could be your people."

Before he could think twice, Leonard blurted, " _a few_?"

To give them credit, they do sound sorry when they say, "our instruments, while finely tuned to the radiation, are unfamiliar with your people's genetic makeup. As such, we had to search for readings that are not native to our land."

Leonard had to physically stop himself from making a face at them as he looked at the padd thing over Chekov's shoulders. It would take at least- more than the time that they had to look over each spot, there were at least ten. He gritted his teeth and said, "then we better get started."

* * *

They sent out everyone they had available- there were no shortage of volunteers. The Ironians specifically told them not to send too many, but they had _ten_ different locations to go to. Granted, three of them were so far from the clearing it was almost impossible for Spock and Jim to have gotten there by themselves, so they weren't likely to be there, but chances cannot be taken.

They took their phasers and backup phasers and survival kits, and Leonard _insisted_ on going down there, and to his not-so-surprise, so does Uhura. And Sulu, as well. Chekov refused to let Sulu go, and rightfully so seeing as he was their best pilot, so it falls down to Leonard and Uhura to lead the search teams.

When he reappeared back on the planet, armed and pissed, he thought he should say something like, "damnit Jim, I'm a doctor, not some _Where's Waldo_ guy," but he could not find the strength. So he nodded at Uhura instead, and they took off to their locations.

The air is humid, the sun fierce. He knew that there would probably be some lung damage with Spock to contend with. He wasn't meant to be out here so long, and given that he probably ran with Jim on his back, not to mention foraging outside while Jim recuperated, it was more than he could handle. Although, Vulcans were a hardy species. Tough on the outside, tough on the inside too in more ways than one.

The first site they visit is two miles away from the clearing. They find nothing there, just a group of trees native to Delta Six instead of Iro. He swallowed his bitter disappointment and carried on for another three miles north, where all they found was a nest of _olios_ , a species of rodent. Most of them were missing limbs or carried huge tumors, which must've been caused by the radiation. They put them out of their misery, Leonard closing his eyes as the security team shoots them.

The other teams check in to report nothing. Five locations had already been searched, and they were due to beam back because night was falling, and the Ironians refused to allow them to search into the night.

It had been fifty-three hours since they were given their deadline, and they only had eighty-seven hours left.

* * *

 

They got their big break fourteen hours later, when a small security team they beamed down as soon as the cracks of light started showing on the horizon told them they found the _talashk-mordu,_ and they needed a doctor and an engineer. Apparently, she was stuck in some sort of war-age trap, stuffed to the brim with netting and spikes. Leonard and the vet- who, honestly, was a small weedy man only able to be called a vet because he had several pets- the Enterprise was short of medical staff, okay.

The location is four miles off the clearing- it seemed like that place was rapidly becoming Base Zero, as there were tents set up and equipment running, constantly scanning the area for any signs of Jim and Spock.

They had also sent their best scientists (barring Spock, and according to the rest of them, his absence was palpable) to work with the Ironians, and they'd actually managed to come up with something that could disrupt the zombies. As their language caused them to chitter in a pitch above the human hearing, it would seem that the Ironians as a race were very sensitive to sound, the zombies more so, apparently. Thus, they'd come up with something similar to a dog whistle, where it emanated a loud, high-pitched sound to disorient and alarm the zombies.

During their search, only one team came across any of those pale bastards, and they had confirmed that the whistle had worked, so all their hopes were riding on something small and silver in their pockets. It made Leonard feel uneasy, but his whole job revolved around trusting tiny metal contraptions to save lives, so he really wasn't in a good place to argue.

It seemed the sun was hotter today, it burned down on the back of his neck and he found himself constantly rubbing his hands over it. Or maybe that was just the stress and anticipation of finally getting some hint of where Jim and Spock would be. Whatever it was, enough time had already been wasted by forcing the search team to have to walk the four miles to find Tefal, then walk _back_ to the clearing as it seemed it was the only area that actively supported communication. As such, he disregarded his want for a five minute break and pressed on.

Finally, they reached the site where Tefal was kept, strung up helplessly in the air. They know they've reached it when suddenly all of them feel lethargy and pain where there were no wounds. As a species, the _talashk-mordu_ were emphatetic telepaths, so Leonard put on his doctor mask and tried to project calm to the beast, which only seemed to help fractionally.

They see her soon enough, blue blood dripping down and coating the sides of the net. Leonard winced and proceeded to catalogue her injuries, which while they looked nasty, did not seem extensive. The vet, however, turned green. He suspected it would fall to him to patch her up. As the netting had been designed to hold a much smaller being, Tefal evaded getting her head on a pike, instead nabbing it in the shoulder.

Scotty made a sad noise in the back of his throat as his eyes drunk in the sight before him.

He had forced himself along on this trip, citing unknown alien specs that amateur would inadvertently mess up and therefore kill Tefal in the process, but everyone knew he liked this birdcat thing and wanted to do his best by her. Apparently, her favourite haunt was the warmth of the engineering deck. Similar to Jim, too. Scotty seemed almost fond of adopting strange alien creatures they found along their travels. Once, Leonard had called him a mother hen once when drunk and he had basked in it.

Scotty set about gently maneuvering the trap and slicing through choice bits of netting, all the while talking gently to her, calling her _lassie_ and _my girl_ and _that's alright now, we've got ya little one._ As he talked, the phantom stabbing pains in Leonard's shoulder and right thigh slowly started to cease. Soon after that, he started feeling inexplicably fond of Scotty and his words, and found himself leaning into them. Scotty gave him a weird look. Leonard snapped out of it so fast he nearly got whiplash.

 _Damn emphatetic telepaths._ Tefal actually turned her head to give him a reproachful glance and Leonard made a face at her.

"Gonna need ya help doc," Scotty gestured to where barbs had gotten caught under her skin. "Can't let the netting down without impaling the spikes into her."

So now Leonard was on a ladder, tweezing barbs and spikes out of a birdcat's flesh. She hissed at him and Leonard snapped at her to _take that attitude and shove it up your ass because ain't no way you're living without these out of you._ She didn't hiss at him after that. Leonard's mother hen skills were as slick as Scotty's.

"Alright, pull the lever," Scotty motioned to one of his officers when Leonard came down from the ladder, his hands sticky with blue. The vet had ditched them at one point, Leonard would be sure to find her on the ship's database and be very cross. "Should be okay now."

The netting fell to the floor with a small bump and a wail from Tefal, but other than that it went smoothly. Leonard then set to work with the tricorder, bandages and a ton of hypos, but it seemed that once the spikes were out of the way, _talashk-mordus_ healed extremely quickly, and as such by the time he was done, the wounds were more than manageable. However, he did have to bat her face away from licking at her wounds. All she would ingest would be the antibiotics and that would do neither the cut nor her any good. Their translators did not work down here, so while she meowed and headbutted him to try and communicate, he could only shrug helplessly and point at random things in hope she was trying to tell him about them. She was not. He could feel her frustration like a tangible thing and tried to convey his own helplessness to no avail.

* * *

 

They were two miles from the clearing when Leonard McCoy finally decided how he would word his resignation from Starfleet. It went as follows: _My Captain and his XO were stranded on a planet inhabited by zombies. When we went in to save them his Chief Engineer and I were abducted by said Captain's feral birdcat and taken off into god knows where. If I come back alive, I want out._

The thing with wild sapient animal species is that most of the time, they're concerned about food and survival. With most intelligence dedicated to what is directly happening to them, they care very much about the consequences of their actions, if doing this would expose themselves, if doing that would get them killed.. They just live. The thing with _domesticated_ sapient animal species is that they are no longer as concerned about hunting or being hunted when they are taken care of and kept in little warm baskets. So they don't really think about what their actions might lead to, like your cat batting a glass off the dining table because it was there and it could. Some examples that Leonard had personally witnessed was a tribble finding its way into a box and not being able to get back out because it was too dark and it was scared, and a _talashk-mordu_ sweeping Montgomery Scott up onto her back and taking off into the forest not two miles from when they would have been freed from the planet.

She had been getting increasingly agitated as they walked towards the clearing, until they struck a tree root (which, on closer inspection, held hints of green blood). She'd bent down to sniff at it, upset, but only a few metres later she'd howled like nothing he'd ever heard, picked Scotty up, threw him onto her back and just took off.

Leonard watched them go for a second, before snapping back into gear and taking off after them, shouting at his team that if they don't hear from them in eight hours, they were to assume death. He was a little upset that no one ran after him though. Did he raise a bunch of cowards? They were _all_ getting bad notations in their files, if he could remember who they were. All red shirts looked the same.

"You gotta stop!" He shouted after Tefal, who was bounding away from him, much to Scotty's very vocal distress. "I said stop! You wanna go somewhere, you take me with! I _know_ you're hearing me, you stupid cat!"

Tefal skidded to a halt on hearing the word cat, she probably took it as an insult. Leonard slowed until he was standing before her, trying to look intimidating while huffing his lungs out. He was the kind of doctor to tell his patients to eat healthy, work out, sleep on time and then never do it himself. "I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but you can't just run off like that, you're injured! We got enough people missing, we don't need more, okay? Plus, Jim would kill me if you died."

Tefal studied him, her yellow-green eyes boring holes into him. Then, with a sound Leonard took correctly to be the vocal equivalent of someone rolling their eyes, she scooped him up and dumped him unceremoniously onto her back, and was back to running again.

Both Scotty and Leonard were taller than her. From the top of her body to her toes, she was only about a metre and a half, so both of them were at least twenty centimetres taller. They had to physically hike up their legs and bend low on her back like you would a horse to avoid getting decapitated by tree branches. There also wasn't a lot of room on the back- Leonard was just glad he was in front and felt supremely sorry for poor Scotty who never asked to be a part of this. He fisted his fingers in her feathers and tried his best to hold on. However, it was a testament to her true strength that she was able to carry two fully grown men on her back and not tire for more than a few seconds.

He could feel himself getting more and more nervous, sad, and angry as time went by. He could also feel a cramp coming on. It was the sadness that clued him in- _Jim_. If she was a strong empathetic telepath, then she would be able to read and sense emotions, and her just taking off like that would imply that something terrible had happened to someone she loved. Jim Kirk. Of course. Yet another element to his fundamental Kirk-ness, commanding love in the heart of someone who'd never known it.

Leonard had read up about _talashk-mordus_ as he, in his own humble opinion, was one of the few capable doctors on the ship, and Jim had specifically asked him to check up on her once in awhile. They were bred to be guardians of sensitive places, but they were never- never more than farm animals in society, so commonplace they were like cows or chickens, and treated as such. Because of their innate ability to not only amplify but read and project emotion, their handlers were trained to not let their feelings show when interacting with them, lest one was having a bad day and caused the animal to lash out. Meeting Jim had probably been one of the only times she'd ever been exposed to affection.

So he patted her side and said, "go get him, girl," and the answering noise was like a battle cry.

According to the tricorder, they had run over three miles and there was definitely a cramp coming on in his legs, but just as he was about to slide from her back in fatigue, she burst into a clearing and stopped dead. Scotty skidded into his back, but Leonard was too busy gaping at the huge structure before him to even comment.

It looked like a termite mound made out of a hard, white substance similar to concrete, like the one in the throne room. Short and fat, it was surrounded by many other similar structures circling around it, though all were smaller. This must've been their centre of operations, and heavily hit too, judging from the craters that lined the road and the damaged, burnt husks of former buildings.

The whole area was encircled by huge, towering mountains that closed in on one another. It was like someone had picked a mountain and then curved its top such that it formed an upside down L shape, and then did the same to the rest so they formed a sort of netting. This was why Jim and Spock never showed up on their scanners. The rocks must've been so thick it blocked any signals, and also hid whatever was beneath it.

Leonard took back what he said about this being their centre of operations. It wasn't, as Tefal continued racing toward the biggest structure. It was a bunker.

There were no zombies about, none that he could see, and it made him nervous, which made Tefal nervous. He was about to say what a bad idea this was when he caught a glimpse of yellow against the white stone. Then everything was forgotten, all the cramps in his legs and the kink in his neck and zombies, what zombies? Nothing mattered but the little yellow shape rapidly coming into view, taking on the shape of a man, banging his fists against a pale white door.

"Jim!" Leonard shouted, but he did not hear him- or he did not care, just kept shoving himself against the doors and a pit in his stomach opened up when he realised there was no blue near him. Twenty metres away, he tried again, and this time Jim turned to him, his mouth opening in surprise to see his birdcat leaping for him, Scotty and Leonard tumbling off her back.

He hit the ground hard and rolled a couple of metres, but was soon back on his feet, helping a cursing Scotty up. He ran to Jim, who was being thoroughly licked by Tefal and nearly fell in relief to see him in one piece.

"Jim," his voice nearly broke and he struggled to maintain his reputation. "Why do you keep finding yourself in these messes?"

Jim did not reply to him, did not even look remotely happy. His face was covered in scratches, his shirt torn beyond recognition, his lips chapped and hair matted into clumps. Dirt and grime had made him their home, and there was a new scar on his leg, one definitely not taken care of by Leonard.

"Spock," is the first thing Jim said, his voice like a whisper. "He's stuck in there, Bones, he's behind these stupid, stupid fucking doors and they won't open, Bones, you've got to help me get him out."

Leonard scrambled over to investigate the door, which looked like it slid down from the top like roller shutters. There was no way to open it. He turned to Jim helplessly, spreading his hands open as his face crumpled and his chest heaved. "We aren't leaving without him."

"Never said we were going to, _Captain_ ," Leonard reminded him of his position, which had Jim's face shutting down as he tried to reboot, to turn back on his command mode. He then turned to Tefal. The expression on his face was enough for her to know what to do, and she backed up several metres. "You're most likely going to break your shoulder, but I can fix that-" He didn't even get to ask if she was sure before she slammed her entire body into the door like a battering ram.

The whole structure shook, dust rained down on them from the top, but all that mattered was when she did it a second time, she broke through the rock and tumbled into a darkened room. Leonard handed Jim his backup phaser and silently watched him turn off stun.

Then, without warning, he climbed into the hole and began firing at will.

Leonard just had to presence of mind to turn on his zombie whistle in his pocket, sending a bunch of panicked chitters up into the air as he climbed in and waded through the mess. He quickly spotted Spock- he was crumpled on the ground, and _god_ , he looked even worse than Jim. His hair was sticky with blood, his features paler than normal, and he was barely breathing. It seemed like all the colour had left him, even his hair seemed greyer, like he'd aged a decade.

Leonard took him in his arms and turned to go, but Jim was still coldly wasting those bastards, leaving a pile of dead bodies behind as he shot with unerring accuracy, only stopping to move to the next target. A zombie crept up behind him, but before he could utter a warning, Jim had gracefully turned around and speared him through with a piece of scrap metal. The zombie choked and coughed; Jim _twisted_ the metal and watched it scream. Leonard let him go, looked at the blankness in his eyes as he fired shot after shot and knew he would kill everything living for daring to even touch his Vulcan, but it was time they could not spare, so he yanked Jim out of the hole by the collar and took off.

"Do you know the way back?" He demanded, and Tefal meowed in reply, a small tinge of determination seeping into his blood despite a phantom pain in his left shoulder. Scotty took the Vulcan from his arms despite vehement protests by Jim, but his knuckles were red and bloody and his left hand looked broken. Leonard wondered how long he'd been slamming his fists on the door, desperate to get it open. Then, it occurred to him that maybe the way Tefal knew where he was was because when Spock had gotten stuck behind the door he'd been so distraught that she had picked up on it.

Leonard tossed the whistle into the hole, which was quite pointless as _all_ of them were very dead, before taking off after them.

They were pursued by only a few of the zombies, but Leonard had taken them down easy as anything, his phaser also not set to stun. Jim had watched him take aim and fire without saying a word. An hour later, they reached the clearing, which was time that Spock did not have. The company stationed at the clearing had cheered when they saw all of them return in one piece, but it died pretty quickly at Jim's blank look and Spock, a dead weight in Leonard's arms.

* * *

They beamed up to the Enterprise and immediately hooked Spock up to life support. Jim had gone willingly to get tested out, inquiring after Chekov and the rest and "I know they did alright, Bones, they're my crew, but Spo- Spock said you were under attack."

"Yeah, those bastards," Leonard huffed as he stuck a hypo in Jim because he was late on his booster injections and he wasn't taking any chances. "Not important. Not yet. Wanna tell me what happened here?"

"I got stabbed by a zombie," Jim poked at his scar. "And then said zombies healed me. How's Spock?"

"Spock's- I'm sure he's going to be fine," Leonard shrugged, which made Jim narrow his eyes at him suspiciously. "You wanna tell me what else happened?"

"I got stabbed by a zombie and fell out of the beam," Jim told him, completely monotonous. How to be Jim Kirk 101- repress the shit out of anything that has ever happened to you, ever. He thought about signing him up for a psych eval, then decided against it because Jim would sooner toss himself out the airlock than go for a psych eval. "And Spock stayed behind to help me. I got poisoned by a piece of bone marrow stuck in me and nearly died, until he figured it out and got rid of it. Then the zombies found us, took us back to their dungeon lair, and healed me. We tried to escape and didn't hurt them 'cause Spock said they were lonely and just wanted _friends_ , which made no sense since they stabbed me and but Spock's usually right so what the hell, right? But-"

"Jim," Leonard eyed his increasing heart rate. "Deep breaths now. You don't have to talk yet."

"No," he shook his head and stared furiously up at him, his blue eyes blazing. "You have to know. We were this close to the door when they found us and they turned all violent. Turns out," he broke off with a bitter laugh and clenched his fists tight. His heart rate continued to increase. "They're so lonely they don't want you to ever leave and they attacked us. And Spock- you remember what you told me when I violated the Prime Directive, Bones?"

Leonard remembered. _He'd let you die._ It wasn't one of his proudest moments, but at that time he believed it wholeheartedly. His brain struggled to compute the meaning behind Jim's words, the self-loathing with which he looked at himself. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that he fucking pushed me out of the closing door!" And he surged up against his IV, the cables yanking him back. Leonard thought he never heard him so angry before, not even when Pike had died. That had been a fury burning cold, a desire for vengeance simmering below the surface. This was wet anger, the kind of anger that doesn't make you strong or blind. It was the kind of anger you sobbed and screamed about; it was the kind of anger that collapsed you from the inside, that made you weak and bitter and desperate. "He fucking _sacrificed_ himself for me, that goddamn, useless excuse of a Vulcan!"

Jim sunk back down into the chair and rubbed his face with his hands. "He's dying in there and it's my fault for not being fast enough."

"Don't belittle his decision!" Leonard said, the words coming out surprisingly demanding. Jim looked up at him in surprise. "He made his choice to save you, don't make it any less than it is by saying you don't deserve it. He obviously thought you did."

Jim's mouth was falling open. Leonard found that once he started, he couldn't quite stop. " Now- when you are done with this pity party of yours, I am going to clear you for _minimal_ duty, wherein you will go shower, eat, and go back onto the Bridge to thank every single one of them for not sleeping until you were found. You will relieve Chekov of his duties, reassign them to someone else, and fill out your reports and your Captain's log. You will go to bed. The next day, the Ironians in the three ships adjacent to us are going to want to speak to you. You will humor them, because they helped us to find you. Then, and only then, will you come into room 2B and sit by Spock if he is not awake yet and cry or whatever. Until then, you have duties, Captain, and they aren't going to stop and wait for you while you mope about being wanted to live."

Jim was definitely gaping at him now. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, before he stood up and yanked Leonard in by his shirt into the tightest hug he'd ever gotten. Jim was a hugger, that much wasn't news to him, but he...not so much, but he sighed and put his arms around Jim because he could've lost this, he could never have had this ever again. Well, he'd never say any of that to Jim, of course, so he rolled his eyes and made some comment about his bones breaking.

"Thanks Bones," Jim kept his eyes averted when he finally let him go, scuffing his feet against the floor. "You-"

"Don't have to say it," Leonard prodded at his back. "You can make it up to me by not skipping your appointments."

Jim grinned widely at him. "You know that's never going to happen, right?"

"A man can dream."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock, why fight so hard to be a part of only one world? Why not fight instead to be the best of both?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite lines from Star Trek, The Motion Picture, was this one Gene Roddenberry had Jim tell Spock.
> 
> "Spock, why fight so hard to be a part of only one world? Why not fight instead to be the best of both?"
> 
> I thought it was beautiful and summed up what the two of them thought of each other in a strangely simple way.
> 
> -
> 
> Welcome to the last chapter! It's been about twenty two days since I started, which is amazing. I never completed a multi-chapter of this magnitude before. So, enjoy this. Thank you for all your kind words and sticking it out with me till the end.  
> (Am uploading this on Wed because my a) my school has started and b) i am done and couldn't just sit on it without posting it)

A day had passed since Spock decided to reverse their roles and take Jim's place as the self-sacrificial bastard in the crew, and he had not improved much. The Ironians had come to look over him and confirmed that what had happened to him was known as _seluk_ , but the process had been interrupted, giving him a chance to live. They also, unexpectedly, thanked Jim for taking out more than half the population ahead of its time, with much bowing and praise. Apparently, the remaining zombies would be no match for their cavalry, and their planet could be regained in a year.

Jim, ever the diplomat, did not mention the fact that the zombies barely put up any resistance, that it was more like shooting fish in a barrel, which meant that their cavalry was really not much of one. He supposed most of it was wiped out during the war. Still, he thanked them, smiled when he had to and escaped to room 2B when everything had been said and done.

"You doubted Chekov," he told Spock, leaning back in a blue chair provided. Spock was lying his back, his hands folded across his chest. Jim frowned minutely; he knew he preferred to sleep on his side. "But according to everyone, even Uhura, he did great. Told you the kid had something in him. You've really gotta give human intuition a chance, it'll surprise you."

Spock did not reply, of course he didn't. His hair still lacked lustre and colour, it fell drably onto the pillow, sweeping across the tips of his ears. His skin too, was pale and grey. "Bones keeps freaking out when you flatline. I keep having to remind him of your healing trance. Can you hear what I'm saying, or are you shutting everything down?"

Jim smiled sadly and reached across the bed to take one of his hands. "C'mon now, we're all waiting on you to wake up."

No reply. The intercom chimed and called him to the Bridge; Jim sighed and stood to go.

* * *

Two days. His skin was slowly regaining colour. His heart rate had been so slow, he had caused the machine to believe he had flatlined thrice in the past fourteen hours, which contributed directly to a very dishevelled and grumpy Leonard McCoy. He was in the middle of yelling at an Ensign who managed to break his finger in the botany labs when Jim walked in. He noted the bags under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders and interrupted his tirade. "You're free to go, Ensign."

The Ensign looked torn between his doctor and his Captain, but when the former relented and made a gesture to the door he bolted out of the sickbay.

"Can't believe I'm going to ask you this, but when was the last time you slept?" Jim prodded gently at his back and handed him a glass of water.

"It's been a while," he rubbed at his eyes and sniffed the water suspiciously. "You didn't drug this, did you? Don't answer that."

Jim shrugged as he chugged it down, but he really hadn't, though the thought had crossed his mind. "If you don't go to your quarters and sleep now, I just might."

Bones eyed him warily over the top of the glass. "Spock-"

"Will still be here when you are done with your eight hours of rest," Jim gestured to the door. "There are other doctors, get one of them up here. They can handle it."

Bones shuffled his feet and made no attempt to leave. "Don't make me make it an order," Jim wagged a finger at him, and finally he sighed and relented, throwing his hands up as he left the room.

As if an afterthought, he poked his head back in a minute after he'd left. "If he wakes up, call me immediately."

"I'll do that," Jim crossed his arms and waved goodbye at him, and he could hear Bones huff at him even through the closed door. It made him snort, but he turned to look at Spock and the laughter died in his throat.

He looked sick. A lump appeared in Jim's throat; impossible to swallow around. He scuffed his feet and wished their positions were swapped- it would be _easier_ , but he wouldn't wish this on anyone. Not even a supposedly emotionless Vulcan.

"We're behind on paperwork 'cause you strike fear into the hearts of the administrative crew and now you're not there to do it anymore. I'm serious," Jim tried for a smile. "We did an anonymous poll couple of weeks ago to find out who the crew thought was the scariest. You won by a 0.9 percent margin over Bones, y'know. Then it was Uhura."

 _You weren't listed_? He imagined Spock saying.

"The people who listed me added _only if you piss him off_ as an afterthought, so I get brownie points. I think," he shrugged and sat in the blue chair he was beginning to hate. "You should totally wake up so you can tell me what you think. I didn't vote for you, by the way. Uhura is terrifying. She does this thing with her eyes. You're just like...a tough, unfeeling, logical robot that's piloted by a mushy soft thing. Don't even deny it."

Spock would make a disapproving noise right about now, Jim would laugh and insist upon it, and Spock would shake his head and walk off to do god knows what.

"Wake up, okay? But not until you're healed enough, or whatever. I need you back a hundred percent," he reached over and took Spock's hand, giving it a quick squeeze before dropping it again. "I've got my reports to fill up, but I'll do 'em here, if you don't mind."

The funniest thing about what happened to them was that Tefal had to wear the cone of shame because she kept licking at her wounds. She kept bumping into doors- once she'd even gotten stuck between two pipes in the Engineering deck, which had Scotty in fits of laughter as he wiped the sides of the cone with lubricant.

Jim had spent a lot of time with her curled around his feet while he did his paperwork, Spock unconscious at his side. Today was no exception, she came in about half an hour after he'd started and wound herself around his chair.

"Asleep?" She asked, her cone making her words echo slightly. Jim resisted the urge to laugh or she'd get up and leave. "Still?"

"Yeah," he coughed to disguise his laughter, but she felt his emotions and so a tinge of offense pricked him in his side. He patted her back in apology. "Yeah, he doesn't seem to be waking up any time soon."

"You miss him," Tefal rolled around, the chair rocking slightly as she got comfortable. "Spock is pack?"

He thought of Spock staying behind to take care of him, of snarling in anger when he couldn't figure out why he was dying, of him shoving him out of the closing door without a word. The last thing he could ever hear Spock say would be "we will not make it." His eyes burned as he replied, "Ah- yes. He's pack."

"I like Spock. He gives me food," she murmured, and promptly closed her eyes and refused to clarify.

He turned to give Spock a betrayed look. "You gave her _treats_?" He demanded, and is it just his imagination or did Spock's eyelids flutter? "I knew I wasn't wrong about the mushy soft thing, you mushy soft thing."

There's still no reply. Jim tried not to let it affect him.

* * *

Four days. They had left the orbit around Iro a day ago, and now they were headed towards one of Starfleet's nearer bases to replenish their stores and get a new lithium crystal. The lights in his quarters kept flickering and it reminded him too much of the unsteady light in the zombies' base, casting shadows about Spock's face, turning him angular and harsh. Spock always tried to seem like things he wasn't. He thought it was a defensive maneuver from growing up in a society full of Vulcans who expected you to be things you weren't, and told Spock while sitting next to him in a blue chair slowly becoming worn out that he didn't need to pretend all the time.

"I like it when you're _you_ , y'know?" Jim wrung his hands and petted his birdcat, who had recently been freed from the cone of shame and was relishing in it by constantly headbutting him. "Tefal likes it when you don't pretend too. Right?"

"Treats," she meowed, and waited expectantly. Jim laughed and shooed her out the door to go bother Scotty for treats, Lord knows he had a secret stash and was just waiting to bust it out. He thought about finding some way to give her exercise, 'cause if not she'd totally put on weight and be unable to come for off-world missions, and that'd make both of them sad. He had really gotten quite attached to her.

"We're all waiting for you to get back," Jim told him when he was alone. "Been quite lonely around here without my XO. I've been sleeping, though. Kinda wanna stay here all the time but it ain't gonna do either of us any good, and you'd be uber pissed at me if I do. Vulcan rage is something I wanna avoid, I like my face like this. And I know people like my face like this. Do you like my face like this? I think you like my face like this. No- strike that, I _know_ you like my face like this- _oh god_ I am rambling and I will stop- um, right now. Please wake up."

* * *

Five days. Bones was getting haggard with the stress and worry- Jim was not much better. He kept spacing out while on the Bridge, fobbing commands and mixing up his alien languages. He had tried to communicate with an Andorian in Vulcan for a few sentences until Uhura subtly pinched his arm and snapped him out of it. Then, there was the case with the new Admiral asking how he was after his ordeal and him saying that he doesn't like oranges 'cause he's allergic.

He sat there, in his Chair, staring out at his crew he would not be able to fully devote himself to so long as Spock was in room 2B, and felt an undeniable sense of guilt. They did not deserve this. They were a great crew; they were his family. But they needed someone to lead them now.

"Sulu," he finally called after he had just signed a padd with Spock's name instead of his own. He watched the man stand up and look at him seriously, without a hint of trepidation. "Take the conn. I'm- emotionally compromised."

An immediate hush fell over the Bridge as Sulu nodded solemnly and slid into the Chair, his fingers flexing. As a Captain, something not written into his job description was the fact that he could not afford to show emotion lest his command be compromised and overturned, unrespected. He had to always present a front that he was In Control of the Situation, but it- it was so tiring and he was exhausted from the fight to keep holding himself together. He just wanted to sleep for a long, uninterrupted time, spend a couple of days on a beach, the sand between his toes and the sun low on the sea. Preferably, Spock would be there, his arms folded across his chest as he fought against the urge to look like he was having fun. And Bones, too, refusing to get into the water until Jim pushed him in, laughing the whole way. Uhura watching, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, from a sunbed. Chekov doing somersaults off a diving board; Sulu doing handstands underwater and coming up to loudly proclaim, "tadaa!"

He wanted- he wanted this so badly everywhere ached, but he could not, so he pushed those thoughts away and looked up into the eyes of his astounded crew.

Uhura glanced at him first in alarm as he finally relented, then in a sort of wise knowing that involved her nodding at him with a mysterious smile as he got more and more weirded out. He mouthed "what?" at her, but there was no reply. She simply turned around in her chair, razor-sharp and beautiful, and turned back to her work.

"I'm sorry," he told the crew, the silence deafening.

"Nothing to be sorry for, sir," Chekov suddenly said firmly, nodding at him in- that's still respect, that is. This sentiment was echoed by the rest of the Bridge staff and they- they didn't look down on him for his emotion or his weakness- they accepted it and looked at him with understanding and then went back to their work as if they had only commented on the weather.

Jim felt their words rush over him and- it was something so small, yet it meant- it felt like- he didn't feel quite so alone anymore. His family understood; that was what they were for, isn't it?

It was more than anyone could've hoped for.

* * *

I intensely dislike you right now, and it isn't even a lie," Jim hissed at the sleeping figure on the bed in room 2B. "I highly doubt that Vulcan healing trances are supposed to take this long, even with extraordinary circumstances taken into consideration. It's been five days, Spock. Get your ass out of bed, and that's an order."

* * *

"I am this close to slapping you. In the face. If you do not wake up, right now, at once. Spock- six days is more than enough. You're being extremely illogical. Stop this at once."

* * *

"Jim," Bones started out in that same voice he used to tell him that he was barely dead. Jim's body tensed so hard he nearly flung himself out of this goddamn blue chair. He could feel his mind racing with the possibilities, endless scenarios; Spock is brain-dead, Spock is never waking up; Spock is _dead_ and this machine is broken- "it's been a week. I- I don't think Vulcan healing trances are supposed to last this long. His body has shut down, yes, but if kept too long- they could not function the same way again. Jim-"

"Stop right there," he interrupted, his voice so low it was almost alien to him. Something dark burned in him, the same way he felt when Spock was stranded on the volcano, when he'd come face-to-face with the same man who killed his father, with the one who killed Pike- he did not like this part of himself. It was the part he tried very hard to always keep buried under layers of goodwill and repression- the part of him that hurt people and _liked_ it, relished in it even; their screams and blood on his hands, washing off easily in the sink. Macbeth was a liar; his hands would not stain seas scarlet- they would cleanse him and he would watch the red disappear into the deep.

As Bones outlined his fears and misgivings, Jim could feel that part just want to burn the entire planet of Iro down to a shrub, watch all those faceless rabbits and white flowers go up in smoke because of the things he could be losing. He imagined it happening and was struck out of his reverie by a small, calm voice telling him that this was not who he should be.

He was Jim Kirk. He did not believe in no-win scenarios. He stood up so suddenly that the blue chair tipped backwards, crashing to the floor. He noted, with some distaste, the half-moon shapes on the armrest where he had dug into it.

Bones eyed him warily; he looked _scared_ of what he might do. "There's nothing wrong with him anymore. His cells are no longer dying faster than they're being replaced, his blood cell count is back to normal, so are his hormones and reflexes. His hair has gotten back his colour, as his skin, there's nothing more that I can do medically. There's only one reason why he hasn't woken up, and that's 'cause he doesn't want to."

Jim saw the fear in his eyes and did not want that. He did not want him to be afraid- so he reached out and squeezed his shoulders and said, "you did what you could, Bones."

Bones' relaxation was visible. He sagged under his gaze and said, "I'm sorry, Jim."

Jim was too busy turning to the intercom on the wall to answer that.

"Bridge here, Captain," Uhura's voice crackled over the line. He knew the message would register as being sent from the sickbay and he could hear the underlying tone of hesitation lacing her words.

"Set a course for New Vulcan," and the words came out harder than intended. "And get me Ambassador Spock."

* * *

Ambassador Spock arrived as quickly as he could, using Scotty's theory of transwarp beaming to come aboard the Enterprise when they were still hours away from New Vulcan. He appeared in the transporter room, hands clasped solemnly behind his back. Scotty, who was managing the transporter room, still let out a quiet yelp when he had stepped down from the transporter pad. Even with the added years, the resemblance was uncanny.

When Jim had hailed him over the communicator, he had said that it was a code blue almost accidentally. He- he just looked so much like his Spock, and spoke like his Spock, and called him old friend- their code words had just slipped out accidentally.

Code Blue- one of them was in serious shit, so called because it had first been used on a planet where the colour blue was practically non-existent, and the locals first exposure to the colour had been Spock's science-blues. They then kidnapped him because they thought he was a sorcerer, and nearly boiled him alive in oil. It was not a very pleasant experience. Jim had to show them his blue eyes to get them to back the hell off. 'Course, they then attacked him, but they all got back onto the Enterprise safely.

But once he'd said, almost flippantly, "it's a real code blue, Spock", the Vulcan had shot ramrod straight into the air and demanded he clarify.

It made something in him melt; that no matter the parallel universe, their code words were the same, but he'd quickly rallied and told him what he needed to know- that Spock was dying, that he didn't want to wake up, that they needed his help.

And so he was here, smiling softly down at Jim, favouring a squeeze on the shoulder in exchange of the ta'al. This Spock was so very different from his Spock- time had made him softer around the edges, less like rock, more like those pebbles you find at the shores of lakes, the ones that can skip on the water if you throw them just right. Looking at him, Jim wondered how his Spock became this Spock, so gentle and unafraid of loving and being loved in return. He also saw, however, the hard lines of muscle about him, the fire in his eyes, the knowledge that his gentility did not equate weakness but knowing when to use his strength. Jim wondered how this Spock came to learn it- he knew how much his Spock struggled.

"Old friend," his Spock started out, his voice smoothened as well, rolling like the crash of a wave. "I wish we had met again under better circumstances."

"You and I both," Jim smiled up at him, instinctively trusting him. Whenever he had guests aboard the Enterprise, they always felt like an intrusion, but this Spock, who looked at the consoles like he was returning _home_ felt like he always belonged here, that he never should have left any of this behind. The ship seemed to be ringing bells, delighting in his presence.

Jim gestured for him to follow him outside, but his fingers lingered on the edge of the door, an almost reverent touch.

* * *

"My Jim is dead," Spock Prime told him unexpectedly as they walked to room 2B. Jim stopped in his tracks and looked at him, expressionless. "There was nothing I could do for him. Humans- they only live so long. That was why I had a new ship- the Enterprise lost meaning for me when he passed."

Jim found himself reaching out for his arm the same way he would have done with his Spock. He hesitated, and then pushed through with the motion. Spock Prime looked at him almost sorrowfully.

"Do you- do you miss him?" Jim asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"There is not a day that goes by where I do not think of him," he replied. There is a small inhale of air at the end of the sentence Jim recognised. Spock did that when, if he were more human, his voice would've cracked.

"Am I anything like him?"

"No," he said, tilting his head at him ever so slightly. "But I find, in the most fundamental ways that made Jim Kirk who he was, you two are one and the same."

There is quiet as Jim pondered this, turning it over in his head. He supposed- it meant that whatever motives Jim had, whatever he was born into- the other Jim Kirk shared it, shared his beliefs and his wishes and his dreams, though the way they presented it might be different, the way they chased it would be different. That Jim would not have joined Starfleet on a dare, would not have done it because he cared so little for his life. He wanted to know something that would- tell him all he needed to know about his alternate self. Something that, at the same time, encapsulated his own driving force. He arrived at only one conclusion.

"Did your Jim Kirk- did he reprogram the Kobayashi Maru simulation?"

Spock stilled, giving Jim a sideways glance. "He did. He defended his decision by saying he did not believe in no-win scenarios."

That was- exactly what he said, too. Perhaps, then, they weren't too different, despite the yawning gaps of circumstance that stretched between them. He thought his distaste for no-win scenarios came from his father dying in one, but maybe- maybe it was just who he was.

"You aren't like my Spock too," Jim replied when they stood outside the door to room 2B. "He's coarser. Rougher at the edges. Less sure of himself. Bones thought that the reason he hasn't woken up is because he doesn't want to. Will you- will you make sure?"

"I will do my best."

* * *

Watching Spock mind-meld with himself was so surreal. Jim sat in his godforsaken blue chair and studied them, compared their features, and when he grew tired of it, wondered what was going on in there. They were fast approaching an hour since they had started.

"Bridge to Captain," the intercom buzzed. "We are in orbit around New Vulcan. How should we proceed?"

"Remain in orbit," Jim eyed the pair nervously. "I'll send word soon."

As if on cue- perhaps they could hear him through the mind-meld, which would mean they heard the bit about wondering if Spock Prime kissed like his Spock, which would lead to some very awkward questions, Spock Prime blinked his eyes open and looked around the room, seemingly- lost. Jim stood hesistantly and reached for his shoulder.

"You are right," he told Jim, his hands clasped tightly together, once he'd strung himself together again. "The damage was on the cellular level, so he submerged himself into a deep healing trance, deeper than is advisable- and now, his subconscious believes there is still more to fix than there is."

"He wants to fix himself? But-" Jim had to admit that he's bewildered. "What does he think there is to fix? I-"

The answer hit him like a sack of bricks, and he almost staggered with the weight of the realisation. He saw when Spock Prime knew that he knew because his eyes softened and he looked almost sorry for them.

"Let me at him," Jim growled, the same dark hum thrumming through his veins. "I'm going to punch some sense into that fucking thick skull of his."

"I do not believe that is going to be effective."

"You're right. I need to punch him when he's awake, or at least looking at me so I can tell him how very disappointed I am in him and watch him fail to compute it. Is there a way you can initiate a three way mind-meld so I can get in there and punch him in the metaphorical face?"

"I can," Spock Prime raised both his eyebrows, and that's new, that is. His Spock only did one. Both was considered an excessive display of emotion. "Is that what you really want to do?"

"You assume upon meeting him in his head I will lose the drive to punch him in the face. Sadly, I always want to punch Spock in areas not limited to but definitely including the face, so that's going to be a little hard for me."

"Well if you are sure, I do not see why not."

Jim stared at him in surprise. "Wait, really? You're letting me go through with this? Damn, I thought you'd pull the illogical card on me." He stared hard at the Vulcan, cataloging even the most minor of his facial movements. " Unless-"

"Unless?"

"Oh, you _so_ want to punch your alternate self in the face too," Jim crowed in delight as Spock Prime hastily rearranged his features, which was the _same_ thing his Spock did when backed into a corner, so it was lost on Jim. "It's okay. I understand perfectly."

"I do not harbour violent intentions toward my counterpart," he said stiffly, but there was a twitch to the corners of his mouth that just begged to be noticed.

"No no, you do, it's totally chill. He does that. Now about that mind-meld…"

* * *

"I will be acting as a bridge for you to cross over," Spock Prime told him as he shifted his chair closer to Spock's side. "I, however, will not be participating in whatever conversation you chose to have with him. That, I feel, is for the two of you to figure out on your own."

"Cool. Just for the record, have you done this before?" Jim asked nervously.

"No," Spock Prime looked at him, a hint of a smile playing about his mouth. "But if you find my lack of experience to be an issue, we can always stop this."

"Ah," Jim frowned down at his thick headed, absolutely _stupid_ Vulcan sleeping beside him. "Well, fuck that. I gotta- bring Spock back. Y'know."

"I do not know," Spock Prime told him, but he was already arranging his hands to connect with Jim's psi points. "I will try to make my mind as empty as possible so that you can cross unhindered."

"Cool cool cool cool cool," Jim rambled, but then without warning he was thrust into a world full of screaming colour and everything became blurry and indefinite. That seemed to be something Spock Prime kept forgetting: that Jim was new to the whole mind-meld thing. It also made him wonder how many times he and his Jim had done it- seemingly enough times so that he's perfectly alright with it.

When his vision- mental vision, everything was still so trippy- cleared, he saw that Spock Prime's mind was much like a small house you'd been living in for a very long time. Everything was where you knew it would be instinctively, and he could feel his way around as though he'd walked the corridors many, many times before. His feet- socked, he realised, though he was not wearing any, padded quietly through the wooden hallways, passing doors that swung open before him without so much so as glancing. Spock Prime, though alike the Spock he wanted, could never be him.

As he thought that, the corridors suddenly shortened until there was only one door waiting for him. He pushed it open, and found that it opened up into a well cared for garden, with flowers growing neatly where they should be, and some sort of vines slinking their way around wooden sticks. He wondered if he was on drugs. He got the idea of a mind-meld, the joining of his inner headspace with someone else's inner headspace, but he wondered how his brain that thought things like "I want to stab him in the _eye_ " and "what would Spock look like if he sneezed" could even make something like this. What sense would it make?

 _This is done by you_ , Spock Prime's voice seemed to resonate in every fibre of his being. _Psi-null species find it difficult to comprehend mind-melds or telepathy. This is created by you and I to better understand what is happening._

 _So none of this is real?_ Jim had not opened his mouth, but the thought had come out anyway. Friggin mind-melds.

_It is from a place I have visited, a long time ago._

This peaceful image, however, ended abruptly with a gaping ravine. On the other side, there was nothing but...colours, whirling and colliding with each other- yet it maintained a sort of order, and there was a pattern in which the colours flashed and exploded.

_Spock does not know you are here. His mind is unprepared for the intrusion._

_Shit. I feel like I should be getting his consent or something._

_Normally, I would agree. But at the rate his bodily functions are permanently shutting down, there is no time._

_Damn. Hope he doesn't mind._

_I am seventy five point six percent sure he will welcome you, because I welcomed mine. But I cannot be sure. Are you ready?_

_As I'll ever be._

A wrought iron bridge slowly solidified over the ravine. The colours on the other side suddenly spiked red, swirling over to investigate the intrusion into their space.

_Hurry, old friend. He might block off my contact._

Jim took a deep breath- completely pointless, he didn't seem to need to breathe here- and put a foot on the bridge. It creaked, but held. He crossed quickly, broadcasting his name to alert Spock to the fact that it was only Jim, no one else. The colours seemed bewildered at his presence.

Jim stepped over the line and everything went completely white.

* * *

Something slammed into Jim's mind-body and knocked the non-existent air out of him, the impact sending him tumbling away. Whatever there was of Spock Prime's mind had vanished, and now there was nothing around him but white. Another hidden projectile slammed into him and he gasped at the impact- he felt like he was forcefully being ejected from Spock's mind.

He envisioned a sturdy wall surrounding him, like he had been taught when in the class for shielding, and the next blow glanced harmlessly off something invisible several metres in front of him. Well then. While his walls held, he gathered up every memory he had of Spock and him- well, actually being friends. Not the ones where they'd been in life-or-death situations, though. He chose the one where they'd played chess together for the first time and Jim had won- Spock's dumbfounded face and his demand that they play again had been hilarious. The time the food replicators mixed up plomeek soup with a quesadilla and the stares Spock had made and gotten while poking at the food with his fork as though it had offended him were comedic gold. When Spock accidentally walked in on Jim dancing in his underwear. He'd stopped, stared, and then said, "a solid, as you say, 'ten out of ten', Captain" and Jim had given an extravagant bow. He tied all these memories together with bits of kindness and warmth and tossed it over his wall like it was some sort of grenade. Technically, it was.

He gave it a moment, and then:

_Jim?_

_Spock!_

His wall shuddered and dissolved, and then, standing before him was his very disgruntled Vulcan. Spock cradled his friendship-memory-grenade in his hands, turned it over, and then it vanished. "I must admit, I never foresaw this ever taking place."

Jim eyed him, remembered why he came here in the first place and then marched right up to him. "Why not?"

"I do not recall you ever demonstrating the ability to initiate a Vulcan mind-meld," Spock raised his eyebrows at him and _god_ was he insufferable.

Jim took a deep breath and punched him in the mind-face.

Spock stumbled back, unexpecting the sudden violence. He gave Jim a looked that just radiated hurt, and because they were in his head, he felt it too, like an aftershock gently shaking his foundations.

"Was that necessary?"

"Very," Jim seethed. "Tell me. Why are you still here?"

Spock's mouth snapped shut, and then his shadowy figure dissipated into the white. _I do not understand that question._

"Do not _think_ at me and that's an order, Commander. Why are you still in your healing trance? Tell me!"

Spock reappeared in front of him, his features a blank slate. "I would have assumed the answer to that question be obvious. I am not done healing."

"Bullshit," Jim crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. "I'm in your head and you think you can lie your way out of this?"

"I am not lying, I am simply-"

"Stretching the truth. I know," he rubbed his face with his hands. "What do you want to fix with yourself, Spock? The fact that you're half-human? Like that ever was an aspect of yourself that you needed to fix. You sunk yourself into too deep a healing trance, that's all."

"It was necessary to survive."

"Yeah, I don't deny it. Vulcan philosophy and all that, what's necessary o=is never unwise. But everyone's waiting on you- wait, even it was just a too deep trance and all that, why would it assume it had to fix it? Spock-"

"My half-human side is something at odds with my Vulcan biology," Spock informed him, as though telling him his name, or something equally mundane. "It registered an anomaly and sought to fix it."

"But why would it even be considered an anomaly? The only reason it would is if you thought it was an anomaly beforehand," and Jim knew he had hit the nail on the head when Spock's entire face crumpled and then rebuilt itself in the matter of seconds. "Oh, Spock."

He stepped forward, unsure of what to do. He just knew that he felt- he felt absolutely saddened for him. That he would think a fundamental part of himself was something that could not, should not, be allowed to exist. "Spock, why fight so hard to be a part of only one world? Why not fight instead to be the best of both? You aren't a dichotomy, y'know. You're just...Spock."

"That is not good enough."

"It's always been more than enough for all of us. No one asks more from you than you, Spock, and no one hates you more than you do. You're- what, the first Vulcan-human child that ever survived. Don't you think there's a reason for that?"

"Advancements in medical technology," Spock deadpanned. "Made possible by the failures of previous attempts."

"Well," Jim hastily amended, because he had forgotten for a moment there who exactly he was speaking too. "Of course that played a factor. You're the only one out there, Spock, but that doesn't mean you're alone. It means you get to make your own rules, Spock. How you want to live, who you want to be."

"I am bound by Vulcan tradition-"

"And yet you're not!" Jim seized the front of his science-blues and yanked such that Spock had to take a step forward. "You're not fully Vulcan, and that's more than okay. 'Cause you're human too, and while we're horrifically illogical and emotional, we do good things. Starfleet was founded by humans to do good things. It's what- what most of us want. Good people, Spock. Good people, who you don't have to be ashamed of being in some way related to."

"I am not ashamed of your race."

Jim stared at him sadly. "Then what are you? Ashamed of yourself? 'Cause you don't have to be. We all love you-"

Spock pushed him away so suddenly he stopped in the middle of his sentence. He looked like he was going to disappear again, but Spock was ever loyal, and did not. Instead, he turned away from Jim like a petulant child. "I know nothing of love."

Jim saw red instantly. How _dare_ he? How fucking dare he? Jim gripped the back of his shirt and spun him around, breathing hard, trying his best to keep himself from exploding. He took a deep breath. It did not work.

"How _dare_ you!" Jim seethed, the words coming out more like thoughts than real things because he could not speak through his clenched teeth. "How dare you say you know nothing of love. Your mother loved you. You father, though he may not like to show it, loves you. You know all too well what it's like to love and be loved in return!"

Spock met his gaze squarely. Jim gathered his words and flung them at him like bullets. " The Enterprise loves you. You think Sulu and Uhura and hell, even Bones wouldn't risk their lives if it meant saving you? You think when I violated the Prime Directive to save your sorry ass that Chevok and Scotty and the rest of them weren't secretly glad? And you dare to think you wouldn't risk yours when the only reason you are here is because you pushed me out of the way? If you say it was logical, you're kidding yourself."

Spock swallowed hard. "Vulcans do not-"

"Do not!" Jim all but roared, slamming his fist into a wall that had helpfully appeared. "Do not give me this bullshit about how Vulcans do not love, or Vulcans do not kid, or Vulcans do not whatever. I could give a flying fuck about what Vulcans do or don't do. You do not have to use that phrase to justify your actions. All I want to know is about Spock. Does Spock love?"

The quietest of whispers. "Yes."

"Then that's all that matters, Spock, do you understand?"

"I do not."

Jim ground his teeth in frustration. But then- from the white- the barely there flickers of thought- Jim narrowed his eyes and asked, "This isn't a mind-meld, isn't it?"

The abrupt question caused a flicker of surprise to shake him a little. Spock was keeping whatever he felt under very tight wraps which- should not be possible, if it was _really_ a mind-meld. Jim knew that much.

"I'm barely touching you, aren't I? This like a mind-graze. A mind-touch. A mind-gentle caress. It sure as hell ain't a mind-meld."

"You are right," Spock looked uncomfortable. "As perceptive as always, Captain."

"So make it one. Like a real mind-meld. The whole nine yards, all package deals. Hit me with it, and then maybe- maybe you'd understand."

Spock looked solemnly at him. "There will be no locked doors."

Jim understood.

* * *

He knew instantly when the full meld happened. It didn't feel like he was meeting Spock face-to-face, it was indescribable. There were no representations of their bodies, just a warm light. He could feel Spock all around him, along with a strange sense of euphoria and relaxation. He felt Spock's thoughts and feelings, knew he was feeling a little cold and that he heard everything Jim had said when he was asleep and that whatever was happening he thought it felt right.

Jim opened up his mind too, reaching out for Spock and met it with a simple touch. There were no startling revelations or sparks flying or whatever, just...Spock. As he was. It felt nice. He gathered up all the affection he had and lobbed it gently over to Spock.

Spock replied with something that was not words nor was it an image, just a sense that he felt tired maintaining whom he should be- that it felt like he was constantly treading water.

Jim tossed more love at Spock. And more. And more, until the connection broke off gently and he blinked his eyes open against the harsh light of room 2B. He looked around, squinting, and his eyes fell upon Spock's eyelids slowly opening.

* * *

He left the room with Spock Prime after calling Bones up. He proceeded to yell at Spock so loudly, they could hear him even as they walked down the corridor.

"How was it?" Spock Prime asked quietly, his footsteps silent.

"He's a dense asshole."

"I was not much better," he replied, and his eyes twinkled slightly. "It seems, old friend, wherever we go, two things are constant."

"What's that?" Jim raised an eyebrow at him as they arrived at the transporter room. Jim had asked him to stay, but Spock Prime insisted that he should limit the amount of contact with his alternate self, and mind-melding with him was already too much.

"There's always a me," there's a pause. "And a you, together. And there's always a vitriolic Doctor McCoy, ready to berate us for doing anything remotely harmful to our person. He is...a gem, amongst doctors."

"When did you learn to be funny?" Jim snorted slightly as he helped his old Vulcan up to the pad. "'Cause it could come sooner for my Spock."

" _Your_ Spock is already humorous."

The words took a moment to register, but when they did, Jim could _feel_ the flush spreading up his face. "Um."

" _My_ Jim failed to appreciate that sooner," Spock Prime actually _winked_ at him, what the actual fuck, but before Jim could comment on his use of the word 'my', or the goddam wink, he had said energise, and was gone in an instant.

"Scotty!"

"Sorry, sir, he just looked at me with those Vulcan eyes," Scotty shivered, his fingers running steadily over the dials. "He's super scary. Like a level ten Spock instead of a level two."

"What? No! He's a chiller version of Spock."

"He stared into my _soul_."

"He missed you!"

* * *

Spock was kept, against his will, in the room he came to know was 2B for another twenty-four hours before he was cleared to leave. During that time, he filled out his reports on his time spent in Iro, and finished his First Officer's log. During that time, Jim had also failed to visit, despite Doctor McCoy insisting that Jim would come sooner or later. It was later, then it was never.

McCoy also told him how they found him, half-dead in the rubble, how Jim had annihilated the zombies for even _touching_ him, how Jim had brought Spock Prime to help him because he'd been worried he'd never wake up. Spock knew all these from the mind-meld, knew exactly how Jim had felt being stuck behind the door. He also knew that Jim knew how he felt being stuck on the other side of the door, but he decided not to deal with that at the present moment.

He refocused on his meditation- his blast doors had been absolutely torn to shreds after Jim had found it in the meld and pounced on it, but he kept getting sidetracked by Jim's locked then unlocked door, and the desperate way he'd told him he knew what it was like to love.

He thought of Uhura. Had he loved her, when they were together?

Yes.

Had he loved her in the way that she wanted him to?

No.

With Uhura, he had been content. He had been at peace with what he had, and desired nothing more. But Uhura wanted more than he could give, and so they'd parted ways amicably. She was a gem even amongst the crew, and Spock did love her. And no matter how much Leonard McCoy grated his nerves, he loved him too. And Sulu and Chekov who were most illogical, well, they were no exception. He would die for them, and it- he didn't know what it was he felt when after the mind-meld with Jim he knew they would do the same. He felt almost- lifted, set on a pedestal.

But with Jim? He loved him- but he made him feel- yearning. Hungry. He made him want to touch and breathe and live and die. It scared him to no end.

* * *

Spock was back in his quarters. Jim had not made any attempt to contact him in two days. Perhaps, then, he was still angry at Spock for what happened when he was in the healing trance. He felt almost ashamed of himself, but knew that there was no reason to, that it was illogical. It did not help as it usually did.

He busied himself with tidying up. Normally, his quarters were the only ones left alone by the yeomen, but while he had been away there had been visitors who'd dusted and tidied up, but now his things were out of order and it made him uncomfortable. He was trying to tilt a book at a very specific angle when the doors to the room slid open behind him.

He whirled around, because he distinctly remembered setting his door to lock, but standing there fuming was his Captain. Spock barely had any time to say even some sort of greeting before Jim had crossed the room in three strides and unceremoniously shoved him up against the wall.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, you got that?' Jim breathed, his eyes blazing. His fingers burned where they touched him, layers of hurt and abandonment sinking into his skin. "You do not get to do that again!"

"Is that an order?" Spock asked smoothly, watched Jim's face twist.

"If it was, it would probably be the only order you disobey."

"I am pleased you understand me so clearly."

"Fuck you," Jim whispered. "Just- why, Spock?"

Spock felt an uncharacteristic twinge of irritation lance through his body, and, even more uncharacteristically of him, he decided to act upon it.

So without using much of his strength, he swung Jim around and reversed their positions, crowding him up against the wall, one of his hands splayed across his collarbones, the other on his shoulder. Spock had researched what such positions meant to humans on a whim, one day. It not only established some sort of primal dominance, it also- Jim's heartbeat spiking distracted him, as did the change in emotions seeping into his mind.

As an afterthought, he slipped his right leg in-between Jim's thighs and felt a sense of victory when he was rewarded with his heartbeat increasing more. He did not move a muscle, just kept looking at Spock with the same, demanding expression he had when Spock first accused him of cheating, all that time ago. The same face that screamed he would be a challenge.

He considered the man before him, then leaned in so that his mouth was brushing the shell of Jim's ear. He could feel him shiver as he spoke, "I do not believe you are asking the right questions, _Captain._ "

"What kind of questions should I be asking, then?" Jim breathed back, but to do him credit, his voice was steady and firm.

"What exactly is it that you want from me?" Spock withdrew slightly to watch the change of emotions flicker across Jim's face before settling on a strong, resolute expression, not at all spoiled by the heady flush that covered his face.

"You know the answer to that," he replied, tipping his head back and exposing the line of his neck as though _daring_ Spock to do something to it.

"I want to hear you say it," he was still afraid of what Jim made him want, but he also knew that what he wanted, he wanted a lot. It would almost be a crime to himself, and to Jim, should he deny it.

"I want _everything_ ," Jim hissed at him, and then surged forward unexpectedly to- Spock thought he was going to punch him again, but instead, he kissed him.

Spock was glad he had some form of experience from Uhura because Jim kissed like a man being starved of water and finally finding some. It was hot and desperate and Jim kept making these _noises_ in the back of his throat that made Spock want to do terrible things to him. He slid his hands down from his collarbones to his hips and pulled him closer, while Jim wound his arms around his neck and pushed his hands up into his hair.

Eventually- _decades, centuries, aeons-_ later, Jim pulled away from him and stood unsteadily. He gave Spock an appreciative once over then laughed. "Your hair is sticking up."

"As is yours."

"Yeah, but mine always does that. Yours just looks cute."

Spock gave him an affronted look.

"Heh. I like this look on you. You should go out like this, y'know, as a rumpled, messy, sex-hair Vulcan," Jim reached his hands up and tousled his hair even more. "No- wait, I changed my mind."

"What do you mean?" Spock raised an eyebrow and wrenched Jim's hands away.

"Only I get to see you like this," he grinned proudly, if a little shyly. His hands faltered as he was adjusting Spock's clothes.

"I am amenable to that suggestion," Spock hastily cut in, and Jim's subsequent grin nearly split his face.

* * *

"When is our next shore leave?" Jim asked, tugging Spock's shirt over his head and running his hands over his chest. Spock was cooler than him, and he could not resist leaning in to run his tongue along the visible line of his collarbones.

"Fourteen point six- _Jim_ \- seven days," Spock ground out, though Jim made sure to tease him about slipping up later. "On the planet of Gamma Fourteen."

"Gamma Fourteen has a beach, right?"

"It is famous for them."

"Cool. We should go. You and me, and Bones and Uhura and everyone, y'know? Bonding exercises. It's really logical," Jim bit at the tips of Spock's ears and delighted in how they turned green.

"That...is logical."

"I know, right? I surprise even myself sometimes."

"I do not understand why I like you."

"Me too," Jim kissed him again and watched Spock struggle to keep up his disapproving look. "But it's probably 'cause of my brilliant personality."

"I highly doubt that."

"Fuck you."

"I can see that that is where you're going with this," Spock raised an eyebrow gently at him, and Jim felt his mouth open. "However, you are going to have to try harder."

"Oh, you are _so_ on. This is going to be like, the best sex of your life ever," Jim pressed him down into the bed and moved to straddle him.

"I shall try to be impressed," Spock replied blandly, but the twitch to his lips, and the fondness, with which he kissed him just gave him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again so much!! Leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it, and don't forget about my upcoming, at least ten thousand word Academy AU for the Enterprise crew coming up. If you believe Jim Kirk to be a meme lover, team instinct, studies while listening to beyonce and listing the names of all the people he has to beat kind of person, then this is for you.
> 
> EDIT, 12/09/16: done with said Academy AU. Read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8017777).


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